


Of Truth and Fiction

by elriahstar



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eluvians, Eventual Smut, F/M, Minor Character Death, Moral Dilemmas, Mount is a character too, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser, Romance, Slow Burn, The Crossroads, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elriahstar/pseuds/elriahstar
Summary: It has been months since the Inquisition disbanded and Athera Lavellan finds that her honesty regarding the events in the Crossroads did not have the effect she'd hoped for.With human/elf relations more tenuous than ever, she finds herself a fugitive, alone on a quest to find her former lover in the hope of saving her world. But another group is moving, and elven mages are turning up dead across Thedas. Athera must call upon all she has learnt if she is to survive this new danger and confront the truth of a world she thought she knew.





	1. Out of the Woods

Athera rubbed her palm, wet with morning dew, over her face. It wasn't the best wash she'd ever had, but that she had the mind to do it at all was a victory in itself. Though recently awoken by the cry of a fennec, lonely and haunting in the misty pre-dawn light, part of her mind yet lingered in the fade. He'd been there again, watching her, although she knew if she'd reached out, called him, he would have vanished like the ghost he might well have been. That he was there at all though bought her some comfort. It had been weeks now, almost months and as painful as it was not being able to be near him, it was preferable to confronting the idea that he might have finally left her behind.

Solas. She tested the name, waiting for it to sound like just another memory. It never did. It was a call, a prayer, a curse, but never a memory.

Aware that not all the moisture on her face was down to dew, she scrubbed at her cheeks again. Mornings were always the hardest.

Mustering a sense of purpose she didn't feel too committed to, Athera reached for her staff, wrapped up in her cloak beside her, and used it to haul herself to her feet. Her body ached from being curled against the tangled roots of a rather impressive tree all night in the damp. She stretched out, trying to ease the knots from her back. The air was chill, but still held onto the remnants of summer and normally she wouldn't have cared to wear the thick woven cloak, but today she would make an exception. The long swath of material and deep hood would hide her arm, or what was left of it, and her pale silver hair. Neither of which were outstanding on their own, but together marked her out as the Inquisitor to the town she would be soon be passing through. Once, that might not have filled her with trepidation, but now, well now things were different.

She remembered the last time she had been recognised, back when Rainier travelled with her for a time. A child had lost his wooden doll and rather than hear him wail in the middle of the market, she'd parted with a few coppers to buy him a new one from a nearby stall. Instead of accepting it though, he'd cried louder, calling for his mother, who swiftly emerged to snatch him up and spit at her feet. Filthy knife eared traitor was what she had called her. Despite Thom's insistence that most people still held the inquisition, held her, in high regard, she had known then that the fear of elven rebellion and her supposed part in it had reached critical point. Whether they said it or not, to many people of Thedas she was worse than just another elf to be suspicious of. Rumour had spread that she had been working with the leader of the rebellion the whole time. His agent, if their whispers were anything to go by. She'd wondered then if confessing all after the events at the Winter Palace had been the right thing to do. In trying to help, she had only managed to secure her own fall.

If only they knew.

The only one they could be sure of that _wasn't_ part of this rebellion was her. She hadn't been allowed to go with them. With him. Even though, in a moment of desperation to not be parted from him again, she had asked.

After that, she had left Rainier and went her course alone, searching for traces of Solas where scouts had reported leads, for anything that could suggest what he would do next. But it was like he and his rebellion had disappeared and they may well have done. Solas had full control of the eluvians now, that labyrinth of magical mirrors connected to many places of this world and many more that were not. For all she knew he could have an army gathering somewhere in the crossroads just waiting for his command. The thought didn't scare her as much as it used to.

The sun was beginning to rise in earnest now, spilling light through the canopy of leaves above. Athera walked to where Falohen grazed a short way off and at her approach he lifted his head to regard her with large brown eyes. “On dhea,” She greeted, patting his neck companionably when he nosed her shoulder in his own version of good morning. The great red hart had been her one constant friend since she had made the decision to dissolve the Inquisition and she would be forever grateful to Master Dennet for having the then injured stag bought to Skyhold with him rather than killed for food. No doubt remembering her misgivings about riding a horse the first time they'd met. She'd spent the following nights after their arrival in the stables, tending to the arrow wounds he'd sustained from some hunt and had suffered to ride no other since his recovery. It was a friendship and arrangement that suited them both.

Athera gathered herself to mount him. He was a good deal taller in shoulder than she was in height and even though she considered herself agile, mounting one handed and carrying a staff had ended up with her misjudging the vault on more than one occasion, leaving her red faced, embarrassed and thankful that he couldn't care a wit for her shame. Many mornings of practice had worked it to a fine art now though and one swift movement was all it took for her to be astride, pressing her thighs to his sides to signal him forward.

Their pace was leisurely, neither in any hurry to be clear of the forest and its comforting blanket. On a branch above a lark trilled out to its mate, the answering call coming moments later deeper within the trees. A little ways off, behind and to the left, some creature, decently sized by the sounds it made, pushed through the undergrowth. Whatever it was, it kept its distance from them, unwilling to risk Falohen's intimidating antlers.

Autumn would take the forest soon, turning green to gold. Already the deer trail they followed had a crisp carpet of fallen leaves underfoot, almost hiding it entirely to eyes unaccustomed to finding their way around the wild places. But Athera had spent the first twenty and more years of her life a nomad with the rest of her clan, wandering the borders of the Free Marches, and there was nary a story nature told that she couldn't recognise. As First and a mage she had learnt much. As the Inquisitor she had learned more. And now a half starved shadow, stalking the edges of civilisation, she found those lessons tested daily.

All too soon the great, ancient trees began to thin. Thick trunks giving way to newer life, willowy by comparison until they opened up completely into rolling grasslands. Athera signalled Falohen to halt, suddenly wary. Where once she might have thought the scene unfolding before her beautiful, she now felt nothing but trepidation, only heightened by the welcoming presence of the forest at her back. The veil was thin there, in the eternal twilight. She could still feel the magic woven into root and soil, remnants of another time. It had been a balm for her, felt like home. The sudden loss of it made her feel terribly exposed.

In the end Falohen made the decision for both of them, taking a few tentative steps forward and when Athera didn't complain, increasing his pace until the shadows of the trees were well and truly behind them.

It was a strangely quiet journey, the hiss of grass bending under the wind coming down from the mountains only punctuated by the rhythmic thud of hooves. Athera knew it wasn't to last for long though. She could already see the shapes of stone buildings, smoke rising from them, off in the distance. All straight lines and possessive borders. There was no way she would be able to ride Falohen into town without immediately giving herself away as Dalish. You couldn't train and break in a hart like you did a horse. You earned its trust and respect. As far as she knew, only her people bothered with such 'elfy' things.

The smell of fresh baked bread and cooking meat made Athera's mouth water and stomach growl violently as she guided Falohen to the side of the settlement, behind what looked to be the ruins of some kind of chapel. It didn't look like any chantry building she had ever seen and thought perhaps that was why it now stood decrepit. Regardless, judging by the growth climbing over rubble and up walls it wasn't a place that saw many visitors any more.

Ordinarily, she would have left her staff with the rest of her possessions strapped to the saddle, but all considering she decided it would be wiser to keep it with her this time. Perhaps being a mage would be enough to keep questions and conversation to a minimum as long as it looked like she had purpose. Making sure again that her hair was safely out of sight beneath her deep hood and satisfied that is was, Athera made her way in to the town proper.

It wasn't a large settlement, likely due to its proximity to the forest, but it was by no means the smallest she'd set foot in on her journey and she was surprised at how quiet it seemed as she worked her way through streets largely devoid of people. When she entered the town square, she saw why. Athera slipped into the narrow gap between two stone buildings to watch as a sizeable crowd drew around a raised circular dais, made out of rock so dark it looked tar black. On it stood two men, one of them an elf and a slave, if the bindings around his wrists were anything to go by. He hung his head, but even from a distance she could see his blue eyes glaring out challengingly from underneath a curtain of unwashed tawny hair. Athera's grip tightened on her staff as she fought to stop herself stepping out in his defence. Her time as hero was over. There was nothing she could do for the man now without giving herself away and sharing whatever fate befell him.

The second, a portly older man with thinning hair and a slight stoop raised his hand, demanding the attention of the throng with the authority that only someone in power knew they held. His eyes swept out over them, relishing their expectant hush before he finally spoke. His voice was weaker than she had imagined it would be.

“This slave, this _elf_ ,” he sneered, as though being an elf was somehow worse than being forced into a life of servitude, “was found in the night praying to a statue of a wolf. That same wolf the rebels hold as their idol.” Lowered murmurs passed among the crowd. Evidently they hadn't yet entertained the thought that one of _their_ slaves could possibly want for something better. The man silenced them again. “We cannot let incidents like this go unpunished. We must show that rebellion will not be tolerated. That it is good for no one!”

The voices of his audience rose up as one in their agreement even as Athera skulked in the shadows, hating how small her own had become.

“Kill him!” The first cry rang out across the stones, rippling out to other similar exclamations that made bile rise high in Athera' throat. And humans called the Dalish savage.

The ringleader basked in the spectacle, letting the people work themselves into a righteous mob before he chose to make his magnanimous declaration. “We are a civilised people! We do not pass judgement without a trial, for that would make us no better than them! Let us set ourselves apart from their barbarity. What say you?”

A pause in the crowd. Confused muttering. Then cheers of agreement. Well played, Athera thought, to pander to their beliefs of their own superior humanity. The slave would die, there was no doubt about that, but it would be called  _justice_ _,_ not murder and this man, whoever he was, would further cement his role as a paragon of goodness and authority. It made her sick.

“You could have lived peacefully, Hallan.” The man said, voice ripe with false sorrow that didn't quite match his expression. “Yet you bite the hand which has fed you, kept you all these years.”

The elf, Hallan, spat at his owner's feet and growled, “Dread Wolf take you all.”

Scowling, the man stepped away and motioned for others to move forward.

Athera cursed silently as she watched two armed soldiers drag him away, unresisting. All she had needed to do was quickly restock her supplies and be on her way, the shortest of stops and yet now, despite all reasoning and sensibilities, she knew she was going to risk it all to rescue a stranger.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up, this is my first fic. Ever. So if it's god awful, please let me know so I can improve and if it's not that bad, well, it would be great if you let me know that too!
> 
> Being post Trespasser, this story might veer wildly off from what others might have in their heads, but remember, this is just my take on what could happen afterwards, crazy theories and all.
> 
> Translations:  
> On Dhea - Good morning


	2. Escape

The world felt heavy and slow around Athera, as it always did whenever she called upon the magic of the ring she wore. Found back in the days when she had been the Inquisitor, on one of her many delves into the ruins of her people, the simple metal band had been enchanted to cloak its wearer with a degree of invisibility. It was a helpful enough ability that she had worn it ever since, but its magic came at the cost of a grey world that seemed to close in on all sides around her whenever it was used. Not that the world needed help with that in her current situation, crouched between the wall and a set of peeling barrels exuding the sickly sweet smell of rotting grain.

The pair which had brought the prisoner in had decided to stay and recant all that had taken place to the guard on watch. He sat now, leaning far back in his chair, scraping at his nails with the point of a dagger.

“So you're telling me that pompous shit Lucius had a spy in his house this whole time?”

“Caught him, he did, whispering to one of those wolf statues they carry with them,” Snorts, Athera had decided to call him, after the way he cleared his nose, often and loudly, said in a conspiratorial half whisper.

“Bullshit.” The watchman, apparently giving up on picking the grime from under his fingertips stabbed the blade into the desk in front of him. “A statue's just a statue. You can't talk to anything through a bloody statue. He's just looking for a way to get people on side after that whole thing a while back.”

“Shame about that,” the second guard nodded. “Poor Julia never did find out what happened.”

“I've heard people say Servus left because he couldn't stand living under her any more,” Snorts argued.

“Bah, the likely truth is that Lucius was buggering the lad and when he threatened to tell someone, the old man got rid of him. A mage doesn't just lose an apprentice.”

“You want to watch who hears you saying things like that,” the first guard warned. “It's stuff like that which will get you into trouble.”

“And that's why I don't say it to anyone but you idiots.” Athera shifted uncomfortably trying to ease the cramp in her legs. “Still, can't say I'll lose sleep over a dead slant ear.”

“One less to worry about running off to join this rebellion of theirs,” Snorts snorted.

“There isn't any rebellion. Just a bunch of pissed off slaves running away and likely getting themselves killed in the wild. You don't think there would have been some kind of fighting by now otherwise?”

“There was fighting down in Perivantium.”

“You call that fighting? Was a skirmish, nothing more. It was over in a few days, I heard. I'd wager that was the bulk of their forces too. Anything now is just a bunch of gutter rats hoping for a new place to piss.”

“If that's the case, why are people still talking about it?”

“Because people like having a bogeyman, they always have. But if they've any sense, they'll stick to worrying about the Qun. That's where the real threat is. Now get lost and get back to work.”

Athera felt like cheering in relief. If she had know she would be stuck waiting like this, she might have thought of a different plan. Incapacitating one guard was an easy task, but three would definitely cause a stir and that was something she wasn't going in for, rescue attempt or no. She waited for the pair to pass by, pulling herself further into the shadows as they did. Though the magic of the ring cloaked her, it couldn't render her entirely invisible and as such close proximity or too much light could have easily given her away.

Finally alone with watchman, she uncurled, leaning against the cold stone for balance while feeling came back to her legs in sharp, painful tingles. She knew she would have to wait for the right moment to strike. One move too soon and he would notice her, perhaps giving him enough time to cry out before she managed to get to him. He tugged the dagger from its makeshift sheath in the desk, examining it briefly before returning it to its proper place at the belt on his hip. That was all Athera needed, a brief moment of distraction. As swift as a halla, she leapt across the room, sweeping her staff in an arc that struck him hard against the back of his shaved head. The watchman grunted and slumped, unconscious over the desk. Not wasting any time, Athera grabbed the set of keys hung carelessly on a wall hook behind him and let herself in to the jail.

It was dark inside, only a single torch lit in a sconce of the farthest wall to illuminate a row of six cramped cells facing each other. It sputtered and danced from the draft she let in with her, casting wild shadows before it. Feeling safer, she allowed the ring's enchantment to fall away from her.

A noise from the first cell to her right drew her attention.

The prisoner shifted into a crouch from his sitting position and eyed her warily. His blue eyes glinted at her in the dark.

“Are you alright?” She asked, reaching to unlock the iron barred door. There were only three keys on the ring so finding the right one didn't take long.

“Who are you? Are you an agent?”

“What? No. Come on, we don't have much time.”

He sprung up but made no move to leave, despite Athera stepping aside to give him the room to.

“You're an elf,” he stated, tilting his head slightly, curious now, if still guarded. “Your eyes give you away.”

“I'll be an elf in the cell next to yours soon if we don't hurry up and move.”

He weighed up his options for only a moment before following her lead. Back in the guard room, Athera slipped the dagger from the prone watch man and used it to cut the leather bindings securing his wrists together before returning it and the jail keys to their rightful places. Again he looked at her curiously, but they didn't have time for her to explain the finer points of arousing as little suspicion as possible.

“Wait,” he stopped her before they could leave. “If I go out there now, I'll be seen.”

A quick appraisal of his thread bare clothes and naked feet and she knew he was right. She struggled to think of any option beyond the obvious. “You're not a mage by any chance, are you?”

“No, why?”

Athera sighed. She hadn't really thought he would be. “Nothing.” Heavy with regret at what she had to do, she unclasped her cloak and held it out for him. He took it without a word and although he hid it well, his eyes darted to the bare stump of her left arm briefly as he wrapped the material around himself, drawing the hood over his face just as she had done.

“Wait.” He said again and gripped her wrist as she was about to leave. Her eyes flickered to his hand and then to the bright points of his eyes. Contact with another was becoming something of an alien sensation, one that no longer sat quite right with her. It made her wary, tense. If he noticed, he didn't show it. She was beginning to think there was more to him than she'd initially thought. “I know these streets. I can get us both out of here. Give me your staff”

Athera took a moment to consider his words. She had been planning on using the ring again to cover her passage, but now unable to replenish her supplies, she knew its magic would take its toll on her, one that would take time to recover from when she was already drained as it was. It was something she had grudgingly been able to accept when her bleeding heart had decided he needed the cloak more than her. But if he could get her back to Falohen like he claimed, she might just be able to end the morning badly rather than _really_ badly. Behind them, the watchman gave a low groan.

“Okay, but I need to get to the old chapel.”

He nodded once, took her surrendered weapon and without releasing her wrist, pulled her out into the grey light of day.

She shrank back instinctively. Sudden panic which she hadn't anticipated clawed its way up from her stomach, wrapping dread fingers around her throat. Someone would recognise her. Her plans would all go to ruin. She would fail.

He must have felt her hesitation because he tugged harder, forcing her feet to move unless she wanted to get dragged along behind, face to the ground.

“ _Walk_.” His command held power enough to bring Athera back to herself and she blinked, feeling the worst of her anxiety slide away.

He didn't seem concerned that spectacle having passed, the usual hustle of a town waking up was in full swing. He did however keep a brisk pace, winding them through main streets and back alleys alike, only bringing them up short once, outside of what Athera guessed to be some sort of guest house if the sign hanging above the door was any indication. The pair of heavily made up women with which they had narrowly avoided colliding with said nothing. They merely looked down their powdered noses at her like they might a rodent before carrying on their way, shrieking in laughter at the mention of some poor man's inadequate equipment.

A surge of righteous anger flared, only to be squashed moments later. Any part of her that might have once railed against such injustices had been long since buried under the weight of self preservation. It did not stop her from hating herself just a little bit though. _Coward._ The word echoed in her head until she swallowed it down like she had so many times before. So preoccupied with battling her own self loathing, Athera didn't even notice when they entered into the little clearing at the front of the chapel.

“Hey, head out of the sky.” He looked about expectantly and, seeing nothing beyond fallen stone and tangled weeds, turned to her for answers.

Of course, she understood. Having been very specific about where she had needed to go, it wasn't without reason that he might have expected more than what was before them. Unfortunately for him, he would just have to console himself that he too was now in an easy position for his own escape. He followed her to where Falohen was contentedly pulling shoots of grass up from between patches of rubble in the shade behind the ruins.

“Well, can't say I expected this.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You're really not an agent, are you?”

“I told you that back in the cells. I was just passing through and got lucky enough to find you.” She didn't bother trying to mask her sarcasm and doubted the effort would have been appreciated anyway.

“Alright, so you're not an agent. You've still got a mount though and that can get me away from here a damn sight faster than my feet can.”

Athera tensed and a familiar heat prickled the skin of her palm, distorting the air around it. Her fingers flexed, ready should he make even the slightest move to try and rob her. Sometimes people forgot mages didn't need a staff to be dangerous and she was strung tightly enough that she was practically an explosion waiting to happen.

He stepped back, raising his hands in front of him defensively. “Take it easy, I'm not trying anything. I mean to say we can travel together. Until we're well away from here, at least.”

“My staff,” she demanded. Whether he was capable of utilising its true purpose didn't matter. It was still a weapon in the right hands and now that the necessity of letting him wield it had passed, she would have been a fool to let him keep hold of it.

Keeping one hand up, he made an exaggerated gesture of propping her staff against the crumbling wall of the building and stepping away again. “See? Not your enemy.”

Athera all but snatched it back, holding it across her body like a shield.

“You've given me a head start, but there's probably people already looking for me by now. Please. I'm asking you.”

 _In. Out. In. Out_.

The pattern of her breathing was all Athera could focus upon. If any thoughts were trying to make themselves known to her mind, they were drowned out by the simple inhalations and exhalations her body made. They might have said bringing him with her was a bad idea. They might have offered a clever alternative. They might have even agreed with what she already knew was the inevitable outcome, but that would never be known.

Wordlessly, Athera mounted Falohen, who stood graciously still for the stranger to take his place behind her.

 


	3. Hallan

They rode in silence throughout the rest of the day, putting as much distance between them and the town as possible. Athera didn't think anyone would come out so far looking for an escaped slave, but she would rather be certain than have to deal with the consequences of being wrong.

Falohen's pace never slowed despite the extra passenger he bore, though judging by the hard, angular feel of her companion's chest against her back, Athera suspected they might have equalled Cassandra's weight between them. Wet.

She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a meal that did more than simply dull the constant ache of hunger. Somewhere along her journey, food had become just another thing she had to do to survive. There was little urgency or pleasure in it.

The sun was on its downwards slope in the sky when Athera called the hart to a stop. The flat grasslands had given way to rocky plains some time ago and she reasoned the jutting crags and boulders would provide as good a cover as any beyond what the forest could offer. Her clan had set up in places similar when they had roamed the Free Marches, keeping the aravels beneath overhangs to prevent the wind from catching their sails when the weather became bad. It all seemed so unreal and long ago now. Like watching another's life through a lens. She could remember how her older brother would mercilessly tease her, always bringing up the one time she had accidentally cremated their dinner by trying to light the fire with her magic. He would laughingly plead with her not to set him alight too whenever she placed a well deserved smack to the back of his head.

He hadn't been in Wycome when she had gone there to find them. None of them had been. Without the Inquisition to add weight to the situation, the council had seemingly fallen apart under the scrutiny of the neighbouring nobles and the elves, including those of her tribe, had once again found themselves on the wrong end of a sword. Whether any of them escaped or not she didn't know and there had been no one willing to discuss the matter with her at any length.

“I take it we're stopping here then,” came the voice from over her shoulder.

Athera had to take a moment before she trusted herself to speak. She might have become used to feeling loss, but it never really became any less painful. It was her pain to keep though.

“We'll set up here for a while to give Falohen time to rest. If you want to leave now, you are welcome to. But I want my cloak back first,” she hastily added.

He slid to his feet, rubbing his backside. “Actually I was thinking I could stick around a while longer. The direction, you'll be passing near Qarinus won't you?”

Athera checked Falohen over and fished out some crushed, frozen berries from her pouch for him. A small reward for one so loyal, yet he gratefully ate them from her outstretched hand, soft, warm breath dispelling the lingering chill. Only when he finished did she turn her attention to the elf.

“What makes you think I'm heading there?”

He shrugged, “Nothing else this way but a drop off into the sea. Unless that's what you were planning.”

Athera could see him appraising her and wondering if indeed that was her intention. She threw her shoulders back and stalked past him, indignant.

“Yeah, didn't have you as the sort.”

“Knowing that will make me sleep so much better at night.” She squat down beneath a nearby overhang and ran her fingers over the ground, drawing dusty patterns in the soil. It was solid, firm and there was good rock beneath. She concentrated on forming a pattern in that rock, tracing the lines in her mind and translating it with magic into its surface. A minor fire glyph, just enough to provide some extra warmth.

“I don't know what you just did, but if it's magic, don't tell me.”

Athera looked up, mildly surprised to find he had thrown the hood back and was now looking down at her nervously. Dark blue eyes sat above high cheekbones, anchored by a hawklike nose and set by the thin line of his lips. The warm golden tone of his skin did little to soften all the sharp angles of his face. “I wasn't planning to.”

His mouth turned down slightly, but he said no more on the matter. Instead he made to unclasp the cloak.

“Keep it. For now.” Athera remembered the tattered, barely held together at the stitching clothes he had been provided in the cells and could see his feet, smeared with dirt and dried blood from small scrapes. She wasn't the sort of person who would deny him what little comfort the thick wool offered. Yet.

He moved to sit beside her when she curled her legs beneath her, indicating with a tilt of her head that he should do the same.

“It seemed to me like this is important to you.” He said, fingering the mist grey material.

“It is, and I will need it when we reach the city.” She sighed, suddenly tired. It had been too long and she was forgetting how to manage people with each day of her self imposed solitude. In truth, this was the most she had spoken to another besides Falohen in months. People came with questions and questions meant answers that she couldn't give and so they turned to lies. And lies turned to ashes on her tongue, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I don't know who you're hiding from and I don't need to know. The way I see it, we're both on the run from something, so let's just leave it at that and make the best of what we can now.” That he could crack any sort of a smile almost impressed her, but then, she had awarded him his freedom so whatever his problems were, he had one less while she had gained one more.

“The name's Hallan, by the way. Don't worry, Lady Mystery, I won't ask yours.”

Athera nodded, grateful. She wouldn't have been able to give it to him even if he had asked.

“Thank you, by the way. You know, for releasing me and all.” His smile turned wistful and he cast his eyes to the ground, obviously uncomfortable with finding such sentiments. “It's been forever since I've been without a collar.” Calloused fingers reached up to his neck, touching the ghost of something no longer there. “That's how he held me. A magic fucking collar to make sure I couldn't disobey. Guards did me a favour when they took that. Along with everything else.”

“They didn't take everything,” Athera offered. The same small consolation she had given herself a million times since that day she had been left on her knees, desperate and alone. “No one can take what makes you, _you_.”

Hallan laughed, a short breath of a sound. “Poetic. But true enough, I suppose. Anyway, I mean it. Thank you.”

They sat in comfortable silence, kept warm by the glyph below. Small wonder he was wary of magic, Athera thought, casting the odd glance in his direction from time to time. He hardly moved from his prone position, head back to look up at the darkening sky. To have his will be overruled like that was a violation the likes of which she couldn't imagine. At least every thing she had done, be it for better or worse, had been of her own making. Of course there had been pressure and responsibilities but in the end it was ultimately her own conscience that had led her down this path.

It was hard to find words to express how angry, how sick and how sorry his previous situation made her, and so she didn't try. But she knew she would carry this feeling with her as a poignant reminder that no matter what, she at least, always had a choice.

Soon enough the sun had dipped below the horizon, bleeding orange and blush onto a cobalt canvass. Darker clouds scudded by, threatening rain in the direction they had come from.

Athera reached out a finger and drew a line in the earth, dispelling the magic below and rose to her feet. She wanted to be moving again before night fell.

Hallan was quick to follow, rolling his shoulders but not showing any discomfort otherwise. “If we ride through the night, we should make it to Qarinus before dawn.”

The same feeling from before, like maybe there was more to him than what he seemed, made itself known again. He might not have needed to know anything about her, but if she was going to be travelling with him, Athera decided she wanted some answers.

“You seem to know a lot for a man kept as a slave.”

Impassive blue eyes alighted on her. If they had been just a few shades lighter they would have been just like _his_.

“I wasn't always a slave.”

He wanted her to ask, she realised, amused by his thinking she could be baited into the question. How long would he last, she wondered, stepping past him to adjust the harness holding her meagre belongings at Falohen's flanks. She caught the shrug and shake of his head from the corner of her eye and couldn't stop the ghost of a self satisfied smile forming on her lips. Small victories were, after all, still victories.

“I guess you could say I was a merc, of sorts. Did a bit of everything really. You don't get to be picky when you're piss poor.”

“So how did you end up here? Surely you didn't sell yourself?” She asked incredulously.

He made a noise of disgust. “I wasn't that desperate. No, I got arrogant. Found myself in more trouble than I could get out of. That was three years ago.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, because it was the truth.

“Could have been worse.”

Athera cocked an eyebrow. She failed to see how anything could be worse than finding yourself in forced servitude, remembering again how she had almost wound up bound to Mythal's will. She had very almost drank from the well of sorrows, if only to deny Morrigan the opportunity of doing so. The woman couldn't have possibly been any more patronising towards her if she had tried and after humouring the lectures on subjects she had learnt about as a child, Athera had sorely wanted to make it unequivocally clear that it was _her_ heritage. It had only been Solas's silent pleading with her not to that had caused her to finally relent.

Athera had learnt by that point to trust his wisdom in most things, especially concerning ancient magical artifacts. She would be lying if she said she'd not felt hugely relieved when the consequences of that choice had later become apparent.

Clearly Hallan wasn't about to elaborate though, so rather than spending her time reflecting, Athera mounted, shifting herself forward to give him room to do the same, at once relishing and hating the feel of another so close to her again. His arms about her waist were a cage and embrace in equal measures to one so unused to being touched.

Thinking about such things made Athera uncomfortable, so she bade Falohen onwards.

The speed at which they moved, the wind grasping at the tendrils of hair escaping the messy side braid she kept her hair in- these things she could focus on. She was free and flying, untethered from the world around her. She could almost imagine the sound of galloping hooves to be the beating of wings, taking them far away from everything below. Almost.

Darkness settled heavily over them, barely brightened by a thin sickle moon the scant few times the clouds dispersed enough for it to be visible at all. Another person might have thought to stop and set up camp for the night, fearing a stumble in the dark. Athera bent low in the saddle, soaking in Falohen's warmth and feeling the strong muscles working beneath her. If he wasn't concerned then neither was she.

If Hallan's arms tightened around her, Athera pretended to not notice.

Eventually the blackness gave way to a slightly lighter shade of grey. Without warning, Falohen stopped dead in his tracks, pawing the ground.

“What's the matter?” Athera squinted, looking out around them for danger. She saw nothing, but oh she was so _tired_. Enough to trust the hart's instincts rather than her own sleep heavy eyes.

“Over there,” Hallan said, his own voice thick with weariness.

She followed the line of his arm as he pointed past her. Almost lost on the edge of the distant cliffs, Athera finally saw the rise of a great wall, stretching wide over the coast line. Two circular towers sat sentinel at either end, their pointed spires topped with what she could only assume would be a dragon on closer inspection. A pair of identical, but smaller structures sat at its centre, a road snaking out from between them.

“Qarinus,” Hallan confirmed.

“How do we get in?”

“What do you mean, how do we get in? We ride.” He shifted behind her. “Although a little less riding might be nice too. Gods, my arse is numb.”

Athera could sympathise. Even used to riding as she was, her own body felt sore and cramped from being mounted for so long. Seeing their destination so close was heartening, but it had been a hard push for all three of them. With Hallan's solution to her question being too simplistic for her to take seriously, she decided then would be as good a time as any to stretch their legs a little.

Finding her feet beneath her was more of a task than Athera had thought it would be and she had to cling to the reins to keep herself from stumbling.

Hallan didn't have as much luck, collapsing to the floor with a pained grunt. “Do you do that all the time?”

“Only when I'm carrying a wanted man.”

“Fair point.” He struggled back up, popping his muscles with an almost indecent groan.

Athera scanned the wall again, hoping that perhaps there was something she'd missed. There were no crumbling buildings to hide behind or forests to retreat to nearby. Only unforgiving stone, hard and unwelcoming. She sighed in frustration, cursing once again the need people seemed to have for solidity in everything. The inflexibility of it all was too much for her sensibilities.“Is there any other way in? I don't know if you've noticed, but we're not exactly riding a horse.”

Hallan snorted, batting the idea away with one hand. “No one would care if you went in riding a goat. It's a trade city. They've seen stranger. As long as you pay the stable hand, you've got nothing to worry about.”

They both looked up then at the raucous screeching of a sea bird, wheeling in circles far above their heads. Athera followed its movements as it continued crying out, unanswered. The lost, plaintive sound stirred up melancholy feelings in her heart that she didn't want to explore further.

“You seem to know an awful lot,” she said, eventually.

A roguish smile crept over his face and he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. Athera was sure the effect was meant to be disarming and it might have been had she been some other woman.

“I know a lot about plenty of things. But this place, yeah, I know this place. I guess you could call it home. It's been a while.”

“And you're sure we won't raise any questions?”

“Ha! They'll ask questions alright. But no more than they would anyone else. What's your purpose, where're you going. That kind of thing. Just tell them something like-”

“Cloak,” she interrupted, not needing to hear more.

His cocked his head, brow wrinkling in confusion.

She held out her hand expectantly, sighing when he still failed to understand. “I need mine back.”

His eyes widened in realization. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

Athera couldn't help feeling slightly guilty watching him shiver without the extra warmth the garment provided, but she suspected stopping just before the check point to take if from him would be akin to yelling 'search me!' To the guards.

After securing it about herself once more, she took Falohen's reins in hand and began walking for the city, Hallan quickly falling into step beside her.

 


	4. Qarinus

The wan light of dawn rose to greet them on their entry into Qarinus, stretching warming fingers out over the city to peel back a mask of grey shadows, revealing the sandy colour of the stone beneath. A labyrinth of buildings and stalls, covered still with brightly coloured cloth, sprawled out within the encircling walls and beyond those anchored ships sat moored to an expansive harbour. At the centre of it all a great building rose up, sporting huge rounded windows that gleamed like watchful eyes. It was a strange looking thing. Athera counted no less than six aurum dragons, glinting dully atop their respective towers. And those were only the tallest. Several smaller annexes branched off from the main structure, tethering it at each corner as though the architects had been worried so many pairs of wings decorating the heights would carry the entire thing into the sky.

They walked side by side down the road from the check point to the city. Cut straight into the side of the cliff, it wound it's way down in lazy curves, easily wide enough for two carriages to pass one another.

Hallan whistled cheerfully, if not tunefully, between chewing a strip of dried, seasoned meat Athera had managed to find in one of the saddle bags. For her part, any hunger she might have felt had been forgotten, twisted into anxiety over everything that could go wrong in a place so full of people. Despite her tiredness, Athera felt the restless energy of adrenaline crackling in her veins. _Run_ , it whispered. Towards her destination or away from it she couldn't decide.

“I know I said I wouldn't ask,” Hallan said, swallowing down the last of his breakfast, “but what is it you actually plan on doing here?”

“You're right, you did say you wouldn't ask.”

“Call it concern, Lady mystery.”

The deep hood pulled low over her brow prevented him from seeing the doubtful expression she gave him. He was hardly in the position to worry about anyone, Athera thought.

“I know people here who will help me out, but you're hardly-” he hummed, searching for a word that wouldn't get him the sharp end of her staff to his gut. “Let's just say I'd feel bad if something happened to you after all you've done for me.”

“Nothing will happen to me,” Athera said with more confidence than she felt.

“That's what everyone thinks until it's too late.” The bitterness in his voice made her wish she hadn't spoken. She looked at him, eyes downcast as he kicked a stray stone out of his path, grimacing as the bare skin of his foot scraped over its rough surface.

“There's someone I'm meeting here,” she admitted, partly for his benefit, the rest born from a selfish desire of her own to feel like maybe the person she used to be was still inside somewhere. The person who saw the good in others, who trusted without seeing alternative motives behind every word.

“Don't ask, don't tell?”

“Exactly.”

Hallan's chuckle turned into a wide yawn, which he stretched into, arms high above his head. “Well tell whoever it is that you've got friends in the city and they'll be looking out for you.”

She nodded and they left it at that.

Hallan parted with her at the stables, reminding Athera again that he would be keeping an eye out for her before disappearing into a side alley with a breezy smile. The sudden absence of his company hit her harder than she would have thought possible and it was with a sombre mood that she led Falohen into the stalls.

The number of horses and even the odd bronto already untacked and stabled suggested to Athera that this was at least a place she could feel comfortable about leaving the hart. The stones were swept clean and the scent of fresh hay tickled her nose pleasantly. She only hoped it wouldn't cost too much.

A young stable-boy ran up to her, wide eyed upon seeing Falohen. Evidently he didn't blend in quite as much as Hallan had suggested.

“I'll be here for the day, maybe the night. How much?”

The boy looked to her, thumbing the tapered end of one ear nervously. “He's too big for one of the stalls, Ladyship. If you want to keep him here, he'll have to be kept outside. It's cheaper though!”

“That's fine,” she reassured him, unable to suppress a smile at the way he shuffled foot to foot, unsure as to whether to take the reins from her or not. A scrawny slip of a lad like him would stand no chance of handling a beast of Falohan's size if he decided he didn't want to be led.

“I'll take care of him myself.”

The boy stopped his fidgeting, obvious relief flooding his face. “That would be five gold then. Six if you want him scrubbed down.”

Athera almost choked. Five gold for one days use of a public stable was _robbery_. It was a good thing she hadn't been able to buy provisions, else she wouldn't have had the coin. As it was she had to tip the entire contents of her money pouch into the boy's outstretched hand. The few silver left over she let him keep for himself. It was worth it to see him beam, promising he'd see to it that no one would disturb Falohen and he would get only the best feed. Athera couldn't imagine many people bothered showing any gratitude to a young elf like him. Was this truly to be the lot of their people? She desperately hoped otherwise, even though there hadn't been much she'd seen so far to suggest it.

Athera guided the hart to a vacant spot and hitched him to the railing. She retrieved the only thing of any value she owned, slipping the small purple crystal into her belt, before untacking him.

“Are you hurt, Ladyship? Do you need help?”

She realised the boy had been watching her go about her task one handed and shook her head. “I'm fine.”

“I can carry the bridle if you like. I'll have to show you where storage is anyway.” He grabbed the leather straps in his eagerness to help and she let him wrest them from her. There was no harm in it, after all. He waited for her to remove the saddle before showing her to a row of wooden crates, stacked three high on top of each other. He slid one out.“You can keep everything in here. I'll keep a good eye on it for you, don't worry.”

By the time Athera had made sure Falohen was settled before trusting him to the boy's capable care, the city had woken up and become a hive of activity.

On the streets, merchants peddled their wares, calling out over the top of one another to gain attention from potential customers. One, garishly decorated with stunning blue silk brocade and gold filigree displayed a dazzling assortment of sparkling crystals and dyed feathers alongside finely wrought jewellery.

Another vendor waved burning sticks of something that Athera identified as smelling of lotus, smokey and sweet. Jars of herbs and a number of tonics adorned the shelves behind him, some of which Athera recognised, many which she didn't.

Polished weapons and shields gleamed proudly on their stands while fully armoured dummies kept a watchful vigil, overseen by an eagle eyed dwarf with an impressive beard and an eyepatch.

Though not as grand as Val Royeaux, Qarinus was a hub of trade and displayed its wealth proudly.

Athera rounded a corner at a tall, domed building, following half remembered directions, and continued up a straight road. Store fronts and guest houses gradually gave way to grand houses, each trying to out do its neighbour. It was at one of these that she stopped, checking and then checking again that it was indeed the place she had agreed to meet at. It was set back somewhat from the other residences giving it an air of importance, made all the more prominent by the tall iron fencing and bronze dragon statues lining the walkway, ruby red eyes glaring. Arched windows, inlaid with stylised glass decorated the second and third floor, while the lower sported a much more moderate style. Above the bronze door, carved into the stone, was another dragon, more serpentine in its appearance than its brethren. In all, the building fit everything Athera knew about Tevinter pomposity.

She pushed through the gates and climbed the stone steps to the entryway. The heavy knocker, head shaped again like a dragon, seemed to mock her as she hesitated there. What if this wasn't the place?

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Athera announced her presence with two sharp clangs.

Heartbeats later and a woman's head poked out from behind the door. Large hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously, taking in her shabby and decidedly poor appearance.

“Pickled wyrm balls,” Athera recited the phrase, feeling utterly ridiculous as she did so. It was a stupid passcode that she had argued over at length, but when one was the master of the house, one could chose whatever passcode one wanted, she'd been very firmly told.

The woman pursed her lips and Athera half expected to have the door slammed in her face. Instead, she opened it and bobbed her head courteously. “Please come in. I'll take you to the master.”

Feeling awkward and out of place in her surroundings, Athera followed the woman into a brightly lit reading room. Bookshelves lined the walls, practically spilling over with recorded knowledge that given better circumstances she would have loved to pour over. Too few times had she been allowed to indulge her thirst for learning in between closing giant rifts, ending thousand year old darkspawn magisters, restoring peace, helping stop a qunari invasion and chasing down the man she loved in order to stop him destroying her world. Just thinking about it was dizzying.

“I honestly didn't think you'd say it. Bravo.” Dorian took a last sip from his cup before setting it back on a delicate saucer, precariously balanced on the edge of the antique table he sat at . To the side, a stack of papers sat next to an open bottle of ink and a fancy golden pen, nib still wet.

“I should tell you before we continue, I have friends in this city and they are looking out for me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You, friends? I thought you'd eschewed such notions in favour squirrels and deer dung.”

Athera glared at him from within the shadows of her hood. He had grow his hair out some and a shadow of stubble decorated his jawline, but beyond that Dorian had changed very little. Gold embellished crimson silk draped around his form, cinched at the waist by a turquoise sash. It wasn't quite the image she'd had of the average Tevinter magister, but then, she doubted Dorian had, or would, ever be considered average.

He sighed and waved her over when she remained stood in the doorway. “And here I thought we were being social pariahs together. Come on then, who are these mysterious friends of yours?”

“Squirrels, of course.”

“Ah, of course. Sparkling wit as ever, I see. Is there a reason why you're still skulking?”

It was harder than it should have been for her to go any further into the room and Athera felt like her feet were made of led the first few steps. Everything in there belonged and she almost felt repelled by its unity, like the scene was somehow physically pushing against her entry.

Though there was another seat, Athera couldn't bring herself to sit in it. Instead she paced to one of the large windows, looking out onto a small but well tended garden. It was the first bit of greenery she had seen since reaching the city and the sight of it was enough to lift her spirits a little. She pushed her hood onto her shoulders and turned to face Dorian properly. His face darkened and with a scrape of the chair against the hard floor, he was on his feet and over to her, catching her chin in his fingers and twisting her face up to meet his.

“By the Maker, I knew you went rogue, but I didn't realise that meant becoming feral.” He turned her this way and that, taking stock of her appearance. Athera batted his hand away, making a sound of annoyance. She hadn't come to be treated like a child. He frowned, hand hovering in the air for a moment before retracting it.

“I've been travelling the wild, not attending court. I don't think anyone cares how I look.”

“I was meaning to say you look half starved, but now that you mention it, you do look terrible.”

Athera didn't think that observation was entirely fair. She had lost some weight, that much was true and about as much hair was hanging free from her braid as was tied into it. It wasn't as though she hadn't bathed at all though. She was fairly certain she couldn't be too grubby. “Looking pretty doesn't help me find Solas.”

“Yes and do tell me, how goes the hunt for him? You didn't say much about it the last time we spoke but I assume you've not found anything or you wouldn't be here.” He returned to the desk and began leafing through the pile of papers, lifting the corner of each just enough to identify its contents before moving onto the next.

Athera shook her head and looked back out into the garden. “I followed rumours of rebellion north from Wycome and found nothing but more stories and reports of missing elves. Slaves and servants, mostly. Not enough to fuel any great rebellion either.”

“I can't say I've noticed a great decline of elves either. Even the usual slave uprisings have seemed almost half assed. I like to think that's because of something good the Lucerni are doing but I suppose that's probably asking too much.” The weariness permeating his voice drew her attention back to him. Dorian was a master of flamboyant disguise and it was too easy to just see what he wanted you too. But looking at him properly, Athera could see the shadows under his eyes, the turned down corners of his mouth and the slump of his shoulders. To achieve any progress in the Imperium must be a monumental task, she knew, but no one was more committed to it than him.

“Slavery and prejudice goes beyond my people, Dorian. What you are doing matters.”

He looked up from the papers and smiled wryly. “Thank you, but none of it will really count for much if the world goes up in flames.”

Athera shook her head, trying to make sense of her thoughts. All the puzzle pieces were there, she just had to fit them together in a way that made sense. The problem was, nothing she had seen so far had made much of that.

“Solas doesn't want to do more harm than he thinks he has to. Cullen said it right from the start, if he'd wanted to fight he wouldn't have helped us stop the Qunari at the Winter Palace.” And then finally something clicked and it all came together for her. It had seemed so insignificant at the time and so much had happened after that she had paid little mind to it, but she remembered a certain incident which had taken place during the investigation almost eight months previous. An Inquisition soldier had apprehended a servant of the palace over suspicious jars. Both had been elves. One had been Solas's spy, placed in the Inquisition and if he was to be believed, they hadn't been the only one. Though not the sole reason Athera had chosen to disband the forces rallied under her, knowing that he had managed to become so insidious in such a short time after leaving them had greatly troubled her.

“Gods, Dorian. How have we been so blind?” She groaned, drawing a confused look from him. “All this time we have been looking for some kind of army, but there isn't one. A few altercations here and there to make it look like there _might_ be, but it's all been a distraction, leading us and everyone else on a wild hunt.”

“Okay,” he stopped what he was doing to give her his full attention. “I'm listening.”

“Think about it,” she said, at some point having started pacing restlessly in small circles in front of the window. “Elves go missing from all over. A mass exodus, they say. Yet all evidence suggests otherwise. But they do go though, and then they are coming back. Spies, hundreds, thousands maybe, in every city, every town, every royal house and organisation.”

“He would have eyes everywhere, always one step ahead of us,” Dorian nodded. “Of course, it all makes sense now.” He started digging through his papers again.

Athera stopped in her tracks to watch him. Either there was something very important in that stack which had relevance to the situation, or Dorian had finally cracked. “I thought you might be more surprised?”

“Would you like me to put on a show, or would you rather I do something useful – like this.” He pulled one of the papers from the pile and waved it in front of him triumphantly. “Of course I should have realised sooner, the Qunari have been employing the same tactics for years. But painful as it is to admit,  I suppose not even _I_ can be perfect all of the time.”

Athera stepped around and took the paper offered to her, skimming over the elegantly flowing words. Dorian's handwriting was all slants and swirls and just what she would have expected from him. A few times she had to squint to make sense of it, but no matter how she looked at it, it was a document of ownership. “What is this?”

“Ownership. Of you. To the Lady Therasia Livius. And before you go tearing it up, hear me out.” He watched her until he saw her hand unclench. Evidently his assumptions that she might shred the paper were correct. Athera had always made her opinions on slavery very clear. “Good. Now I told you I had a plan, didn't I? This is it. The fact that half of the slaves are already his could actually work in our favour.”

“Get to the point already,” Athera snapped. Her fingers itched to destroy what they held. Though she somewhat differed from them now, she had been raised Dalish, roaming the wilds and swearing to never submit to subjugation after the humans had betrayed her kind and taken their homeland from them. Again. Yet here the man she considered her closest friend was asking her to do just that. Even though she knew it was all part of some plan of his and not actual ownership, long ingrained ideals rebelled against the idea.

“The downtrodden and oppressed are your way in. Become one of them and you might just find your path to Solas. You won't actually be asked to do anything, of course. Therasia is young, but she has proven to be one of our more reliable allies. She knows what you are trying to do. All you have to do is act the part and get the information. You've done worse things.” Fingers laced in front of him, he looked at her expectantly. If she had a better plan, he was waiting to hear it.

She put the document down, not trusting herself with its safety. His was a good idea and was the only real plan they had, she understood that. But if she agreed to it, and she wasn't sure she would yet, there was still the matter of her being recognised. Her position had made her known throughout Thedas, by appearance if not by name and she didn't doubt Solas had people watching for her. Why wouldn't he when he knew she was coming for him. It was only due to her keeping mostly to the wild places which had kept her hidden as it was. “A slave matching my description suddenly turning up and asking questions? Solas won't believe for a minute that it is merely coincidence.”

Dorian brightened, lips curving up into his neatly curled moustache. Athera had seen the same expression many times before and it usually preceded him getting his way. She wasn't entirely sure she felt too good about seeing it now.

“What was it you were saying about looking pretty?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lordy, how I love Dorian, but how I hate writing him. Sorry if his tone is all off, I tried! Don't throw things at me, please!


	5. Goodbyes

Athera stood, disrobed, staring at her reflection in the full length mirror mounted to the wall. Behind her, the bronze bath tub waited, herbal scented tendrils of steam curling up over its lip. It was inviting, to be sure, but the sight of herself held her fast for the moment. A creature she could barely recognise stared back at her. She ran her hand along ribs, too prominent under ashen skin, down across a hollow stomach and jutting hip bones. Dorian had been right, she looked starved and feral. Her cheeks were shrunken under the deep shadows of her eyes – eyes that remained recognisably hers. Large and pale blue-green in colour, they burned with a feverish intensity out of place with the rest of her. Long, silvery white hair, now unbound, fell in wavy tangles down her back. The blackened stump of her left arm stood in stark contrast to otherwise fair features. Though the lower half of the arm was no longer there, lost to the magic which took it, Athera swore she could still feel it sometimes. It was a strange sensation, to say the least.

When the mirror became fogged enough to blur her reflection, Athera finally submerged herself in the bath. Despite leaving it time to cool, the water was still shockingly hot enough to make her skin prickle, but she forced herself to remain until her body adapted to the heat. The initial pain subsided into a pleasant warmth and she sunk further down until only her head was above the water, allowing her taunt muscles to relax. When was the last time she had bathed in something other than a stream, she wondered.

Eventually, after the water had cooled, she set about cleaning herself with the soap left on a small stool next to the the tub along with a cloth and two bowls. One contained a sweet smelling clay like substance to clean her hair, the other a deep red paste to change its colour. If they were looking for a silver haired woman, Dorian had reasoned, they would just have to make it so it wasn't. And she wouldn't be the only one in Tevinter to carry marks of serious injuries. This smallest change would allow her to pass unnoticed by all but those who knew her personally.

Feeling as clean as she was going to get, Athera scooped up a large handful of the sweet clay and scrubbed it into her scalp, fingers battling with knots to rake it through to the ends. It wasn't an easy task but she persevered until it too was clean and rinsed.

All that was left was the paste, which she raised to her nose to sniff. It smelt faintly nutty and not unpleasant. She followed what Dorian had instructed her to do, covering the entire length of her hair in the stuff, taking care not to get it wet until it began to come away as powder on her hand when she was allowed to wash it off.

By the time she had finished, the tub looked like a murder scene rather than a bath. Athera stepped from the lukewarm water, dried and clothed herself in the garments the housekeeper had provided her. The simple green dress was too large on her small frame, but it was soft and had a tie at the waist which she tightened until it no longer looked like a sack on her. A pair of plain leather slippers had also been left out.

A knock at the door came just as she was finishing up. Dorian was waiting on the other side and on seeing her, he nodded approvingly. “Yes, I think that will do nicely. Did you see yourself yet?”

Athera shook her head. She didn't need a mirror to see that the paste had worked. Strands of auburn fell over her shoulders in damp waves.

“You should, it's quite the change.” He guided her into a parlour room, large enough to comfortably seat a small party of guests. Tapestries depicting mages in various tasks adorned the walls while a sleepy onyx serpent coiled its length around a grand fireplace until its head came to rest upon its tail at the base. Cheerful light streamed in through tall, open windows, framed with luxurious golden drapes that rippled in the warm breeze.

Set out on the table in the middle of the room was a veritable feast. Ripe looking fruits, thick slices of fresh bread, smothered in a rich butter, cuts of meat and most tempting of all, a collection of frilly cakes.

Dorian settled into one of the plush upholstered chairs and helped himself to a particularly plump red fruit, a kind Athera had never seen before. He caught a trickle of juice with his tongue, making a show of how good it was.

She didn't need any more of an invitation and quickly dug into the food, ignoring Dorian's slightly amused expression. The meat was tender and the bread melted wonderfully in her mouth. The fruit was refreshing and tangy and the cakes light and sweet. All too soon though, her shrunken stomach had reached its capacity and she regretfully set a half eaten apple back onto the table and sank into her chair, hand on her stuffed belly.

“I'll tell Jisenne her lunch was appreciated, Shall I?” Dorian smirked across the table.

She hummed her contentment. Clean, fed, warm and safe, the exhaustion from the past few days was finally catching up with her. She could feel her eyelids becoming heavy and fought to keep them open, but struggle as she may, there was no fighting the heavy fog of sleep that crept over her.

When she awoke again, Dorian was still sat opposite her, reading quietly. He looked up from it as she stirred, setting it down once he was sure she wasn't going to doze off again. Athera stretched languorously. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. It's still early in the afternoon.”

Athera had thought it too dim until she noticed the drapes had been pulled, shutting out most of the light. At some point the table had been cleared, the platters replaced with a steaming teapot. A delicate cup had been placed out for her. Athera hadn't touched the stuff in years though, and didn't intend to start now.

“I took the liberty of contacting Therasia while you slept. She's been eager to return to Vyrantium and I thought you would rather not waste time. Or was I wrong?” He asked, seeing the trepidation creep into her features.

“No, you're right. I'm just – I hope I can do this.”

“You can,” Dorian assured her with a firmness she hadn't expected. “You have to. At this point you might be the only one who can stop Solas. Persuasion or otherwise,” he said pointedly.

Athera couldn't meet his eyes and looked away with a shuddering sigh. It was that otherwise which scared her the most, an option which she had refused to entertain from the very start. How could she tell people that if Solas wouldn't see reason, she didn't know if she would be able to betray him. Their hopes were woefully misplaced on her. Dorian said her name and she nodded to show that she was still listening.

He sighed. “I'm sorry. I know this can't be easy. I wish there was more I could do to help, but in honesty we are struggling against the Magesterium as it is. They desperately hold on to broken traditions while the Qunari continue to beat against our door and if I lose ground now -” he spread his hands wide.

“I suppose we both have our parts to play, for better or worse.” Athera said quietly.

“That we do,” he agreed. “Best of luck to us both then. Maker knows we're going to need it. Fighting against impossible odds. Just like old times!”

She couldn't help but mirror his sardonic smile.

 

**~~ 0 ~~**

 

A short time after their conversation, Dorian had excused himself to make the arrangements necessary for their plan to work, leaving her in Jisenne's care. It was too suspicious for them to be seen together, he explained, not doubting that eyes were watching him. Athera had sat patiently through Jisenne's ministrations on her hair, artfully crafting it into a very neat braided bun. She had even listened attentively to the long lecture given about the duties and expectations of a good servant. But once the woman had broached the topic of randy young men expecting an easy time she'd had to make her own exit.

She was too hot now underneath her cloak and a trickle of sweat snaked its way uncomfortably down the small of her back. She hadn't dared to go out without it though, not until she was far away from Dorian and any eyes that may have been watching him. She refrained from pulling the hood up though, reasoning that as long as her arm was covered, she was indistinguishable from any other elf in the city.

Her feet had taken her back to the marketplace, busier still than it had been that morning. Horse drawn carriages clattered along the streets, heedless of anyone in their path, but those on foot easily danced out of their way in the comfortable rhythm of routine. The disparity of wealth was as obvious in Quarinus as it was in any large city. Athera reclined against a pillar of some overly ostentatious building to watch the currents of people flow in and out of stalls and store fronts. Though the majority of the crowd was made up of ordinary folk, she noted the way they parted en masse for certain individuals, mages, she assumed by their decorated robes, although not higher ranking ones. Those were the ones in the carriages. Very occasionally the same would happen for a different type of power. Expensively dyed leathers and showy jewellery suggested wealthy merchants. The lower a person's station, the more room they created for these people, and the lower they bowed their heads. Athera had often wondered as a youngling why the oppressed didn't simply band together and overthrow those in power. She had been sure in her youthful naivety that had the Dalish the numbers, they would have taken back their homeland and been free of humans. Time and wisdom had taught her otherwise, of course. The Dalish were as likely to quarrel amongst themselves as they were anyone else and winning freedom was a thing easier said than done. The sad truth was that while many spoke of liberation, precious few were willing to do more than just that. True change, she had learned, often came at great cost and sacrifice. For most, the risk seemed too great. It was far easier to let another take up the cause and perhaps if they looked like they might have a chance at succeeding, or were charismatic enough, others would rally under them.

Athera followed the progress of a pair of elven women as they meandered through the market. They would stop occasionally to purchase various items which went into woven baskets, chatting and laughing with one another and seemingly ignorant of the sideways glances and hushed whispers that followed their passing. For all Athera knew, they could be free and happy, but she no longer had the luxury of thinking that. Right now she had to believe everyone with pointed ears was a potential connection to Solas. Before long the pair became lost in the crowd and Athera decided she could no longer hold off the inevitable.

Falohen had his nose in a sack of hay when Athera found him at the stables. True to his word, the stable boy had made sure he was being well taken care of. “I see you are making good use of my coin.” He looked up, golden stalks sticking out either side of his mouth. If he had been capable of expressions, she thought he would have looked guilty. “Swallow it, fool creature.”

He resumed chewing, inclining his head towards her when she reached up on her toes to scratch the sensitive spot behind his ears. His pleased snuffles bought a smile to her lips.

A forced cough came from behind just then. “Am I interrupting something?”

Athera spun, instinctively reaching for her staff, but she remembered too late that she had left it at the house. Half a heartbeat later she was preparing to use herself as a conductor instead.

“Easy!” Hallan threw his hands up, wide eyed. “We really need to stop doing this.”

Athera exhaled, willing the charge racing through her blood to dissipate. The effort left goosebumps on skin. She scowled at the man. “Try not creeping up behind people!”

“I didn't creep,” he shrugged with a lopsided grin. “You just didn't hear me.” In the few hours since they had parted ways it seemed he had undergone almost as much of a transformation as she had. Gone was the sorry looking slave and in his place Hallan stood confident and full of charming swagger. The threadbare rags had been replaced with scuffed, but well oiled buckled leather and his sandy hair was pulled back into a roguish knot.

“You look like a thief,” she accused.

“And you look like - well I don't really know what you look like, but you've changed.” His hand waved around his own head to emphasise the matter. “I almost didn't recognise you.” And then as an afterthought, “I preferred it before. It was pretty.”

Athera rolled her eyes. She couldn't make heads or tails of Hallan, who slipped from whimsical to serious in the space of a breath. He was, she thought, a man who likely hid many faces behind that dangerously beguiling smile. He was actively seeking and would probably soon find spies though, so easy as it was to feel comfortable around him, Athera knew she had to exercise caution. He might not know her true identity, but he had seen enough of her that if anyone described the Inquisitor to him, he'd work it out fast enough. That left two options. Kill him or trust him to keep her secret.

Athera sighed, Leliana had always said she was too soft.

“What are you doing here?” She asked.

“I saw you in the market and followed you,” he said breezily, like it was an entirely normal thing to do. “The red threw me at first, I admit, but I recognised the cloak. It was comfortable. A bit too warm for it now though so I thought, ah, that can only be my Lady Mystery.”

“And is there a reason you followed me?” Athera pressed. She doubted there was anything for her to worry about yet, but the act alone was enough to question it.

“I wanted to say goodbye.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“There's some people I need to find outside of the city, but I get the feeling you won't be here any more when I get back.”

Athera was sick of goodbyes. She had thought it was supposed to become easier the more you did it. Whoever had first said that was a liar. She ran her fingers through Falohen's soft hair, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. He turned his head and nudged her with his nose.

Yes, goodbyes still hurt.

Steeling herself, Athera turned back to Hallan, still leaning cross armed against the door of an unoccupied stable. “I suppose you'll need a good mount then.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. She could see he was trying to find a more believable answer to the obvious suggestion.

“I am leaving soon and I can't take Falohen with me where I'm going. I was going to let him free, but I think you two could get along.” She tried a smile, but it was weak and unconvincing. A fist of grief was beginning to grow in her throat and she knew if she didn't hurry this up, her feelings would threaten to betray her in front of him.

“If this is a joke, I don't get it.”

“I'm serious. I'll be travelling by ship and I can't take him with me. Look after him okay?” Athera nuzzled into the thicker blanket of the hart's chest and wrapped her arm about his neck. A moment of intimacy usually reserved for them alone but at right then she wouldn't have cared if the entirety of Thedas was watching. “If you treat him wrong he _will_ let you know and he can feed himself most of the time so you won't need to worry about that.”

“Are you talking to me, or him?” Hallan had come up next to them now. He reached out as though he was about to try and comfort her before hesitating and awkwardly patting Falohen instead. The hart snorted.

“He doesn't think much of your jokes either.”

“Is that so? Well maybe they just take some getting used to.”

Athera nodded and stepped away. The sting at the back of her nose told her if she didn't leave now, her tears wouldn't be far behind. That wasn't something she would allow. “The gear is stored over there,” she waved in the direction of the crates. “It's in one of the middle ones. I don't remember which. There's a stable-boy around somewhere, he can tell you.”

Hallan opened his mouth to say something, but she brushed past him. His protests, his thanks – whatever it was he wanted to say wasn't something she needed to hear right now. The thin whine of Falohen's distress was more than enough to break her, without adding words to it.

“Be good to each other,” she said, just about managing to sound somewhere near composed. Then she pulled up her hood and walked out of the stables before anyone could witness her heart shattering.

 

 


	6. Curls and Shadows

Lady Therasia offered her a drink and for the third time that evening, Athera politely refused. Even if the swirling pinkish liquid hadn't looked suspiciously like wine, she wouldn't have accepted it. And so the decanter remained untouched on the prettily laced table.

Therasia took to arranging a bloom of violet and pale blue flowers, one of several placed about the room. Athera watched as she would pluck a stem, run it through her fingers while she considered and then plant it back in a slightly different position, not really changing the look or effect of the bouquet in any obvious way. Doing so bought a soft smile to her face though.

She was younger than Athera, if not by much, and very pretty. Golden curls arranged themselves artfully about her shoulders, framing a triangular face. Both her ocean green eyes and cupids bow mouth spoke of warmth, and the light dusting of freckles on her tanned skin had an air of mischief about them.

“I'm not sure. Do you think this looked better before, Inqui- I mean. Ah.” She flushed and dropped her head in embarrassment.

Athera deeply wished she could be back in the forest again.

A pained sigh came from the crystal held in her palm, drawing her attention back to it. It seemed to pulse with the sound.

“If I had known this would be so awkward, I would have sent a chaperone,” Dorian's disembodied voice griped. He hadn't attended the meeting in person, vying on the side of caution, but he had insisted that they used to crystal so he would be able to 'sit in' as he put it.

Therasia huffed and propped her hands on her hips defiantly. “Well maybe if you hadn't given me an entire lecture on things I'm not supposed to say, this might be easier for all of us. Don't mention the Inquisition. Don't mention Fen'Harel. Don't mention the fade. Don't mention vallaslin. Don't mention the Dalish. Sorry,” she said the last one to Athera, not the crystal, “I wasn't supposed to mention any of that.”

Athera bit the inside of her mouth to hide the smile desperately wanting to form. Perhaps she had misjudged the girl after all.

“Oh for the love of-” Dorian groaned.

“It's fine,” Athera said before the pair descended into bickering. “I don't mind. Thank you for the consideration, but my feelings aren't so delicate.”

Therasia stuck her tongue out at the crystal and grinned impishly. “That's what I said. You bought the Orlesian court to heel. You defeated Corypheus! You're the Inquisitor for crying out loud!”

“Was,” Athera corrected. “There is no Inquisition now.”

“And you have to stop calling her that,” Dorian chided. “Try to remember what the point of all this is.”

“Secrecy, I know. I'm not daft, Dorian. It just slipped out, but it's only because I'm so excited to finally meet you!” She rushed over and took Athera's hand in her own. The floral scent of her perfume was heady and overpowering, tickling Athera's nose. “I've heard so much about you and the things you've done. It made me think I could do something bigger too.”

Athera stuttered, torn between wanting to pull away and not wanting to be rude. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Therasia's enthusiasm and warmth, but it was all just a little too much right then.

“Now that's out of your system, can we _please_ get on with finalising what needs to be done?”

Therasia wrinkled her nose at the crystal, but released Athera and stepped away. “Is there anything we don't all already know? _Athera_ will pretend to be my new handmaid and try to get information from other servants. What else is there?”

“Somehow I don't think it will be that simple. From what we've seen, Solas's people are a secretive lot.”

“I think I might know how to get their attention,” Athera said, recalling how Hallan had been found out. “Those looking to find the rebellion use wolf idols. That's how his agents know who to approach. If I can get my hands on one, it might be just what we need.”

“And what do you plan to do when you find them?” Therasia squared her shoulders, no doubt expecting Dorian to chastise her again. But it was an honest question and she deserved an answer, Athera thought.

“I work my way to Solas and try to make him see reason. However I have to.”

“And if he doesn't want to listen?”

Athera dropped her gaze to the floor.

“She kills him,” Dorian answered for her. “That's why it has to be her. She's the only one who can get close enough to him unguarded.”

Therasia tapped her foot on the ground and shook her head vehemently, honeyed curls bouncing wildly. “No. There's going to be no killing because he's going to see sense. You're going to knock it into him if you have to, okay?”

Athera could just imagine beating Solas, _Fen'Harel,_ ancient elven 'god', upside the head until he capitulated. The thought was absurdly amusing and also strangely satisfying.

“What I wouldn't give to see that,” Dorian agreed quite seriously, no doubt picturing it himself. He had often described what he would have liked to do to Solas after he had left her broken hearted. The punishments had only become more creative and vindictive as time went on. “If there's one thing I've learnt though, it's always prepare for the worst when it comes to these 'Let's remake the world!' types. Bit of a history.”

“You don't have to be so blunt about it though.” The folds of Therasia's floor length gown rustled softly with each step she took to the table, where she proceeded to pour herself a drink. She didn't extend an offer to Athera this time. “Some things don't need to be said, even if they are obvious.”

“You're the one who asked!”

Therasia cast an amused look at Athera and winked. “Honestly, Dorian. Too much time around mercenaries is making you tactless.”

“Tactless? I am not – and what do you mean too much time around-?” His embarrassed blustering was apparently exactly what the young woman had been aiming for judging by the way she clenched her fists to her chest and rocked her shoulders rhythmically.

Her artful misdirection of Dorian on matters that were still too painful for her to give words to were not lost on Athera, who smiled a silent thank you. Therasia smiled back. You're welcome, it said.

“Our ship will depart for Vyrantium first thing tomorrow. I hope that's okay with you?”

Athera didn't think she was in any place to argue even if it wasn't. After leaving the stables, she had returned to the town house in the hope of finding a quiet place where she would be left alone to pick up the pieces of herself. Instead she had found an irritable Dorian, worried that she'd ran off. Managing to convince him she planned to do no such thing, he'd given her just enough time to collect her staff and communication crystal before escorting her to a waiting carriage. Her gear she'd arrived in needed burning, not wearing, he'd declared when she had asked after it. Athera felt a little like she had given permission to let the two mages control her life for the foreseeable future.

Taking her silence as an acceptable answer, Therasia clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. Your belongings are already being taken aboard so all we have do is be there on time.”

“Excuse me?” Baring what she already had with her, Athera had no other possessions. She would have expected Therasia to already know this. Unless-

“Clothes and such. I wanted to make sure you had at least a few nice things, but Dorian wouldn't let me. You are going to be a rather plain servant, I'm afraid.”

For the briefest of moments she'd had the faintest glimmer of hope that perhaps Dorian had somehow thought of Falohen and that he'd arranged for him to travel with her. To even consider the idea was foolish though, she knew. Anyway, she had already entrusted Hallan to him. She would just have to console herself with knowing he was alive and well.

Athera nodded, content to let Dorian and Therasia talk between themselves and finalise the last of the preparations. She would mend herself in front of them and they would be none the wiser.

 

**~~ 0 ~~**

 

Beds were not a thing the body forgot once it was used to them, Athera decided, sitting up in the one Therasia had provided her for the night. She would have thought after months of sleeping rough, they would take some getting used to again, like they had the first few weeks back in Haven what seemed like lifetimes ago. The soft mattress and satin sheets felt like luxury though and tempted her with a better nights sleep than she'd had in ages. Still, Athera couldn't settle.

Pushing the sheets aside, she climbed from the bed, foregoing the slippers laid out for her. They were something she'd never understood and likely never would, despite the many endorsements of them every time she'd been caught wandering around barefoot.

She opened the tall glass doors which opened onto the balcony and stepped out into the cool night air.

Below her the harbour stretched out, quiet at this hour, with only the gentle groaning of timber and the sigh of lapping waves rocking the anchored ships. Athera breathed deeply of the salt-sweet breeze and leant against the balustrade, looking up at the sky. The constellation Servani was high over the sea, dragging his eternal chains behind him, while all around beautiful pinpricks of starlight glittered. A thin moon cast a shaft of light over the the endlessly black water and up onto the shore.

It was in that light that Athera caught the movement of two figures on the docks. Like shadows through the darkness with long robes that gave the appearance of floating rather than walking, they moved from ship to ship. In front of each one they would stop and stand perfectly still for some minutes before continuing on the the next.

Athera didn't know anything about the managing of a harbour and for all she knew the pair were engaging in a completely normal activity. But something about the way they moved unsettled her and when, after observing the last ship, they stepped into the darkness and seemingly vanished, she decided she'd had enough of the night air.

Shivering with more than the cold, she retreated back into the bedroom and made sure to close the doors securely behind her.

Ensconced once more in the safe cage four walls provided, Athera began to feel foolish for allowing herself to become spooked so easily. She had probably witnessed two brigands, nothing more. It wouldn't be unusual for a trade city to house an entire den of thieves, most of who would practice their trade under the cover of dark. But the ill feeling followed her into slumber and floating shadow figures with outstretched arms plagued her dreams that night.

 

**~~ 0 ~~**

 

“If you do not want to be on this ship, you don't have to be. There will be many others leaving at a more suitable time for you, I'm sure.” Therasia crossed her arms in front of her and stared the merchant down.

Apparently this particular voyage to Vyrantium had not been scheduled to depart for another few days and having given the word for it to leave early, Therasia had managed to inconvenience more than one angry merchant. This was the third confrontation of the morning and the sun was barely up.

Athera watched from her proper place, a pace behind Therasia, curious to see how the scene would play out.

The merchant bristled and pulled himself to his full height, looping his thumbs through the heavy golden buckle of his belt and the heels of his turned down boots cracked against the slick stone of the harbour as he shifted his position, planting himself firmly in their way.

“I've already paid good coin for passage on _this_ ship. Why, I thought it was a joke when I was told I would need to have everything ready for today! That simply isn't possible! You have no authority to do this!”

Therasia brushed her hands over her skirts, smoothing over imaginary creases. Though not as extravagant as the previous days gown, her travel clothes were immaculate and finely tailored. She smiled. “Do you see that crest on the hull? That's my family's crest. I have _every_ authority to decide when it leaves and when it doesn't.”

“You expect me to believe that?” The merchant sneered. “How much gold did you bribe the Captain with?”

Therasia didn't argue. Didn't say a word. She simply pulled back the lapel of her chiffon velvet short coat to reveal an embroidered bird flying in front of crossed lightning bolts. The same emblem as was on the side of the ship anchored in the dock before them.

The man blanched and licked his lips. “I- Forgive me, my Lady, I had no idea.” He seemed torn whether to bow or step out of the way, settling on an awkward combination of the two.

“Well now you do. If you will excuse me.” she pushed past him without so much as another glance.

Athera followed, careful to keep the appropriate distance. She could hear him muttering to himself quietly as she passed by.

Once they were out of earshot Therasia visibly relaxed, the tension in her shoulders disappearing.

“I hate doing that,” she sighed. “Acting just like my mother. She would be so proud.”

The way she said it made Athera think Therasia didn't much like that idea, but there was no denying it had solved the issue in short order.

They continued down the wooden dock, heedless of the other passengers and crew that hurried to and fro in preparation for departure. A contingency of guards bowed their heads in reverence as they stepped onto the gangway.

The ship itself was a decently sized, three mast affair, built long and lean for speed. A figurehead of a feathered serpent reared up on its prow, wings outspread.

“This belongs to your family?”

“Yes. Not everyone is born a mage, even in families where magic runs strong. My family has ties in shipping and trade too. Ah, it's the Captain.” Therasia lifted her hand in greeting.

The woman in question was engaged in instructing a number of crew members, directing them with the same efficiency Athera had seen Cullen use on his troops. She looked to be nearing the wrong side of middle aged, her deeply tanned complexion lined and the copper of her sharp bob shot through with silver. Her cerulean eyes had a shrewdness about them though and her frame was tightly muscled. Athera noticed the way her left hand hovered at her hip, just above the pommel of a sword.

On seeing Therasia, she waved away the man before her and approached them.

“A fine mess you've caused this time, girl.” Despite her words, she laughed and clasped Therasia's shoulder affectionately.

“Apologies, Aunt Bea. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you too much?”

“Me? Not at all. Some of the merchants wanting passage weren't too impressed, but I've seen to it anyone who needs compensating will be.”

“Yes, we met a few on our way here wanting to give their piece of mind to the bossy mage.”

“You are bossy, they got that right,” the Captain chuckled wickedly. “But who's we?”

If all she'd needed was to colour her hair and call herself a servant to be invisible, she should have done it sooner, Athera thought with a tinge of bitterness. Of course she had seen as much during her time in the south, especially in Orlais, so it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise, but now Athera realised that until you were on the receiving end of such ignorance, you never really _understood_. Not properly anyway.

She kept her eyes lowered, even when the Captain peered around her niece to get a look at her.

“Well well, now this is a surprise. Are you sure you want to have one of their sort though? Wouldn't trust them at the best of times, less so now. And maimed too.”

“Their sort?” Therasia questioned, voice tart. “If you mean an elf, then yes. This is my maid and I pay her, so don't be too shocked.”

The Captain shook her head, but was still smiling. “I see you've not changed then. Well if it riles your mother, I suppose I'm all for it. Come,” she said, taking Therasia by the arm. “Tell me how you've been.”

Athera wasn't sure if she was supposed to follow or not, but decided staying put and being accused of incompetence was better than some of the alternatives she could think of. When Therasia and the Captain disappeared into the cabin and shut the door behind them and she still hadn't been called for, Athera could only assume she had managed to do the right thing.

That did leave her without a purpose however and she was sure the workers wouldn't appreciate her loitering about on the deck, possibly getting under their feet. She looked around for somewhere out of the way where she could stay until Therasia came back. Unfortunately, without going below deck, which she dared not do without permission, there weren't an awful lot of places a person could remain inconspicuous. The best she could do was to remove herself to the back of the ship and hope no one questioned her presence there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems a little disjointed but I couldn't figure out how to go about it any other way. Scenes too short to be chapters alone, but making them longer would have been dragging them out too much. So yeah, it's bad. Apologies ;_; I'll try harder next time


	7. Across the Ocean

The crew was ready to depart by the time the Captain and Therasia emerged again, which was likely the only reason she wasn't left waiting longer, Athera thought. She had watched perhaps a dozen other passengers board and head below deck. Endured the suspicious and sometimes lecherous glances of the deckhands. It was the waiting that had bothered her the most though. She was used to being able to set her own pace. Stop where and when she wished. Having to be at the mercy of of others was already beginning to chafe.

“What have you got there?” Therasia asked, climbing the steps to reach her.

Athera turned the fist sized splinter of wood over in her hand. “I thought I could use this for carving. Pretty sure the ship won't fall apart without it.”

Therasia came up beside her and gave her a questioning look. “I don't mean to sound condescending but how can you carve with only one hand? I wouldn't be able to manage with two.”

Running her thumb across the smooth grain, Athera smiled. Figuring out the best way to carve something after the loss of her left hand, without doing injury to herself, had been an exercise in pure stubbornness arising solely from the want to whittle a glyph into the haft of her staff. It hadn't been important, it had ended up looking abysmal and at the end of it all the magic she had tried to imbue it with hadn't even worked. But none of that mattered. For her it had still been a victory in a time when she had felt useless and crippled, unsure in her changed body.

“It took a lot of trial and error,” Athera admitted, “but if you can get me a small knife and some sort of rope, I can manage.”

“I think I can do that,” Therasia said, though her voice held a note of curious uncertainty in it. “But first we need to get below deck. Aunt Bea says we will leaving port soon and she will not abide anyone getting underfoot. Including me.”

Athera was privately glad they wouldn't be staying on deck. Dorian had promised her that she would feel the swaying less inside and she sincerely hoped that proved to be true. She still remembered her first journey across the Waking Sea, a wretched time spent hanging over the side of the ship emptying her stomach. Whilst she enjoyed the ocean and would happily spend time sat watching the waves, she preferred to do it with her feet on ground that didn't shift underneath her.

The cabin, she discovered, was one large open space, bowed and supported by curving beams. It was like being in the belly of a great wooden beast, Athera thought.

The entire far side was was piled with tightly sealed crates and barrels, sectioned off from passengers by a length of rope and two well armed guards. An opening suggested there were more stairs going deeper into the ship too, likely where the more valuable cargo was kept.

A number of trestle tables and benches had been laid out for passengers under the soft glow of glass and copper lanterns.

A small group had gathered on one of the tables, someone having produced a deck of cards. From their conversation, Athera deduced they were playing some variant of wicked grace.

Therasia led them over to an unoccupied bench tucked away by itself. She looked around to make sure no eyes were upon them before discreetly reaching under her skirt and fetching a slender boot knife.

Athera raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. There was definite merit in having a concealed weapon, that she knew. What she didn't know was what Therasia thought she might do with that particular blade. It would be more useful opening letters than it would be at deterring any attackers. Perhaps it would sting them at best.

“I told you I could get you one,” the girl whispered, giving her a conspirational wink.

Athera fought the urge to laugh. There was no reason to suspect Therasia would ever have to use a knife. No doubt just possessing one made her feel risqué.

Settling the wood on her lap, she held and weighed the blade in her hand, testing the jewel encrusted hilt for grip. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it would do. Just about.

“I don't think we'll find any rope lying around. But-” Therasia hesitated, pursing her lips and looking awkward. It didn't fill Athera with confidence. “Well, could you use the cord that ties your sleeve?”

It wasn't anything she would have thought of, Athera had to give her that. The velveteen cord they'd used to tie back the lower half of her left sleeve would be barely long enough to wrap twice around a thin table leg and might very well prove to be too slippery to keep hold of the wood. About as practical as the knife, in all.

“Doubtful, but worth a shot, I suppose.” She twisted in her seat so that Therasia could untie the knot. “You're going to need to make it seem like this is an order of yours if anyone becomes curious.”

“Is that really necessary?” Therasia's nimble fingers made quick work in removing the cord. “I'm not really the commanding sort.”

“You seemed to do just fine out in the harbour with the merchants.”

“That was an act. I just think what would my mother do. I love her, but she is a bitch.”

“This is an act too, remember.”

“Yes, but this is different. You're-”

Athera cut her off with a sharp look. It was one thing to slip up in the safety of private accommodations, but to do it around others in confined quarters could be disastrous.

“I was going to say my friend,” Therasia said sulkily and pouting. “But fine. I want you to make me something. Go on.”

There was that word again. Friend. First from Hallan, now Therasia. They weren't aware of the power it held. How dangerous it could be. Athera didn't want that for them but at the same time she clung to the idea, cradling it inside the deepest parts of herself.

Sinking to the floor in front of the bench and placing the knife beside her, she pressed the wood against a table leg, keeping it there with her knee. She reached back up and took the offered cord. As she'd thought, it just about managed to wrap around twice, with a good deal of coaxing.

“What's going on over here?” Apparently they'd attracted some attention. Athera could only see the man's boots and the bottom of his long coat which brushed the tops of them. Keeping her head down, as would be expected of a servant, felt an awful lot like cowering, she decided.

“My maid is making me something pretty, but I didn't want to get dust on me so I'm having her do it on the floor.” For all Therasia's insistence that she didn't like commanding others, she'd certainly perfected the art of acting imperious.

“Is that so?” The man said. “You want to keep an eye on that knife though. Never know when one of those sorts will try and pocket things too good for them.”

Athera's knuckles bled white, she was gripping the hilt that hard.

“Yes, thank you. I'll do just that.”

The man turned and walked away. Athera counted each of his retreating steps on the creaking planks, breathing deeply between each one as she let her tension and anxiety leave with him.

“It's people like that who gives everyone in Tevinter a bad name,” Therasia sighed. “Sometimes I think it's little wonder everyone seems to hate us.”

“Orzammar likes you well enough, I hear.”

Her comment drew a small laugh from the girl. “Then I suppose all hope is not lost.” She watched with some curiosity as Athera tested her makeshift clamp. “Is it alright?”

Surprisingly it was. The velveteen was slippery enough that though tight, Athera could still twist the splinter around as needed. “It will do.”

“So what should I do?”

Knife in hand, Athera began her work. “I don't know, whatever Tevinter mages usually do. Read a book and complain?”

Therasia's lips twitched in amusement. “I'll just make sure no one bothers you then.”

 

Athera sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. No one would ever claim it to be beautiful or well made, but after hours of effort she had managed to transform a simple shard of wood into something more. The head of a wolf, carved into a diamond shape that would fit neatly into the palm of her hand. A bit of leather and it would make a serviceable amulet.

She flexed her hand gingerly. It ached from holding the knife for so long and the bejewelled hilt had left tiny indents in her skin.

Suppressing a groan, she hauled herself up onto the bench and wiggled her numb toes, trying to get blood back into them. It came with a sharp, prickling pain that shot down her legs and practically had her paralysed until it passed.

She was alone now, Therasia having been called to join the Captain for lunch in her cabin some time after the ship had left harbour. She had made quite the show of telling Athera she expected a finished item by the time she returned though. Athera suspected it was only because of that that she had been left to complete her task without any bother. If anything, the other passengers had made a point of ignoring her completely.

Closing her eyes, she let the gentle rocking motion of the ship lull her into restfulness. Dorian had been right after all. Like this she could almost imagine being back in an aravel, safe amongst her clan. Except she wasn't and the shifting of light behind her eyelids was not from passing under trees.

“You seem to be taking it easy for someone with a job to do.”

Athera cracked her eyes open and looked up at the man. The face was unfamiliar, but she recognised the slate colour of the coat. It seemed their earlier friend had returned, fresh from a date with his hip flask if the smell was anything to go by.

“It's done,” she said, as meekly as she could manage. “Sir.”

From the way he scowled at her, she guessed it wasn't meek enough. If she believed in gods any longer, she would have thought they were all having a good laugh at her expense. Well she'd just about had enough of this giant cosmic joke on her behalf. Her fingers danced across the bench to find the blade again. The action wasn't lost on him.

“Afraid you'll have that taken off you, hmm? Your kind disgust me, always wanting more than what you have. Should be thankful you're not in a whorehouse. 'Least you'd be useful then.” Throughout his tirade the man had began to advance on her further. In the position she was in, Athera couldn't get out from behind the table without going through him and doubted that would end very well given that he seemed set on making things difficult for her. She slid back along the bench, trying to put some space between herself and his brandy soaked breath and looked around imploringly at the other passengers. Though they had gone quiet, none seemed particularly concerned about stopping the situation. Even the guards only gave her a cursory glance.

Her mana pulsed and her blood sang with magic straining to be let loose. Athera tightened her grip on the knife, using the biting jewels as a point of focus. She couldn't release it. Not here, not like this.

“Give that to me,” he ordered.

Athera tried to recall all those lessons on diplomacy she'd sat through in the weeks before attending Empress Celene's ball years earlier. That had been in preparation for the great game of the Orlesian court - a veritable minefield - so surely there was something she could use against one drunken, racist bigot.

“It's not mine to give, Sir. Please, I can't. My mistress will be back soon. Please.” It was the closest she had ever come to begging and she hated that it was for him.

He took another step towards her, close enough now that she could see the yellow in the whites of his eyes, the broken capillaries threading across his cheeks and in contrast to the the thinning hair on his head, his black beard was thick and flecked with left over lunch.

“I said give that to me, not answer me back,” he fumed and lunged for her. Everything happened before Athera could think about her actions. In his stupor, he stumbled against the edge of the bench and fell forward. In the few moments it took for him to put his arms out to stop his fall, Athera had bought the blade of the boot knife up to press against his throat. He froze, swallowing hard.

Heart hammering in her chest, she could do nothing but hold her position and curse her own impulsiveness. She'd managed to get herself into a fine situation, one that she wasn't sure she could talk her way out of, but panicking would only make matters worse, she knew.

People whispered now and she caught the movement of one of the guards leaving their post.

“My mistress entrusted me with this, Sir, and I will protect it even though you try and take it from me. Please stop this.” She made sure her voice was loud enough that no one could mistake the situation, though she doubted it would matter if they decided it was her at fault.

“I will have you hanged for this, elf bitch,” he snarled.

She leaned in closer, just enough so that her words would be for him only. “Not before I cut you open, _shem_.” His Adam's apple bobbed satisfyingly beneath the blade and he didn't say a word after that. Drunk, but luckily not stupid enough to provoke her further.

Becoming aware of people descending the stairs, Athera recognised the honey gold curls of salvation and none too soon either, she thought.

“Just what is going on here?” Therasia demanded, coming to stand before them. Despite not being all that much taller than Athera herself, she seemed to tower imposingly over them both. For one inappropriate moment Athera envisioned her as one of the brightly coloured birds she used to watch in the spring as a child, which would ruffle their feathers and spread their wings wide to them the appearance of being twice as large.

“I'm being accused of attempted theft, I think.”

Therasia raised an eyebrow and turned her gaze to the man, even though in his position he couldn't face her properly. “Theft, is it? Of what, exactly?”

Against her better judgement, Athera withdrew the knife, allowing the man freedom to answer for himself without worrying about the blade at his throat. He hurriedly rightened himself and felt around his neck to assure there was no injury.

“Well?” Therasia shot, impatiently.

Confident he was indeed in one piece, he rounded on her, shoulders squared, fists clenched and shaking at his sides. Athera readied herself to spring should he make to strike Therasia and saw that she too had moved her hand to the elegant, spiral wand at her belt. Athera had heard of people using the instruments in place of a staff, but this was her first time seeing one. She couldn't imagine something of that size being able to channel much power and had visions of it shattering under the force of a decently charged spell.

“Your pet attacked me! I demand she be punished.” It was his turn to look around for assistance where there was none. By this point all eyes were upon them, but they were the eyes of people watching a performance put on for their entertainment. They would not get involved and ruin the show.

“He tried to take your knife,” Athera explained. “I wouldn't let him.” She knew she was probably talking far too casually, but she figured by this point the damage had already been done. Dropping a title was the least of her offences.

“Is that true?”

Huffing and looking as offended as a person possibly could be, the man shook his head. His actions reminded Athera of wayward children protesting their innocence after they had been caught doing something they knew they shouldn't have been. Which wouldn't be too far from the truth in this case.

“For safe keeping,” he insisted. “You can't leave such valuable things with that sort, but that hardly matters any more. She dared hold it to me! Such insolence!” Therasia had to lean back to avoid being hit by his spittle, not even attempting to mask her distaste.

“So let me understand this. You think my maid would try to steal an item I left in her care, despite knowing she would be the one punished if it went missing? That doesn't make much sense now, does it? I'm sure you just mistook the situation.” Her voice conveyed the kind of reasonable sweetness usually reserved for thinly veiled insults. “She may have acted rashly and I assure you she will be punished for that, but by not relinquishing the knife she has done exactly as I asked. I can hardly fault her for that now, can I?”

In his inebriated state the man was no match for Therasia's gentle reasoning, especially with the promise of punishment granted. An empty promise, Athera knew, but it grated on her nonetheless. He looked between them, torn between his desire to take his impotent rage out something and his need to protect what dignity he had left. In the end the latter won out. Athera was thankful a thing like reputation was so important to most people.

“Make sure the punishment is justly harsh. And train her better, she's still half wild.”

Therasia stepped aside, allowing him to escape. Growling to himself, he stalked away to the far end of the cabin and sat himself facing away from them before retrieving a flask from an inside pocket to drown his defeat in more liquor.

Situation over, their audience followed suit amongst grumbles of an unsatisfying resolution.

“Here, take it.” Athera put the knife on the table and pushed it away from her, glad to be rid of it.

“I'm so sorry,” Therasia breathed, sliding in to sit beside her after she'd returned it to its rightful place. “Honestly, I'm so mortified right now. I shouldn't have left you.”

“It's fine. You were brilliant there. I didn't think we would get out of that without a fight.”

“That makes two of us. I've never been in a fight before. I don't think I'd know what to do.” Therasia's nervous excitement came as something of a surprise to Athera. For some reason she had thought all mages in Tevinter would be used to magical duels or some such thing. It was a ridiculous notion really, she supposed on further thought, fuelled by Dorian's exaggerated stories of life in their circles.

“Anyway,” she continued, taking a deep breath to calm herself, “we'll be reaching shore before too much longer and then we won't have to see him again. Thinking of which, did you finish the carving?”

Producing it from within her dress, Athera placed it in front of her. Now that someone else was appraising it, it seemed embarrassingly crude and ill made and she felt the urge to make excuses for it.

“Well it's better than what I could have done,” Therasia said simply. “And that's going to help?”

Athera looked down at the thrown back head of the animal and preyed its silent howl would call to the pack of her own dread wolf and finally guide her back to him. “I hope so.”

 


	8. Vyrantium

It was late evening by the time they were back on land. Therasia was occupied with the task of directing their belongings into a hired carriage. Evidently she didn't mind bossing around people that were being paid for their labour as she insisted yet again that they should be _careful_.

Mindful not to stray too far, Athera ventured a little ways down the harbour to get a better look at the city. Though a coastal town like Qarinus, Vyrantium held little of the light, cosmopolitan feel of the trade city. Darkly beautiful were the two words she would best describe it as. Built up around either side of the river, which continued inland from the sea, Vyrantium was a stone forest of pointed arches, sculpted buttresses, towers, spires and pinnacles. It spread out in a rough half circle, with one side climbing up up the side of a hill on which sat, at the very top, an impressive cross between a fortress and a cathedral.

Vaulted bridges arced gracefully across the water, smaller cousins of the one large sky bridge connecting a pair of towers just beyond the harbour, at the mouth of the river. Tapered flags streamed from each of their spires, deep red against a backdrop of dark greys.

“The left and right claws,” Therasia said from behind, startling her. “No one gets through them without a pass.”

Athera didn't need to be told how it was they managed to enforce that. The magic of the barrier practically hummed with arcane energy. To the naked eye it was completely invisible, but anyone with a modicum of magical aptitude would be able to feel it there.

“I can give you a tour, of sorts, tomorrow if you would like? The coach is ready now though and I would _really_ like to get home before it gets too dark.”

“You don't like being out at night?” Athera asked once they were safely ensconced in the velveteen interior of the carriage.

Opposite her, Therasia looked troubled. “No, it's not that. You'll think me childish for saying this but you see, there have been all sorts of rumours of late. Strange people and such. There's always been criminal syndicates and spies and whatnot, that's just part of life here so for them to get _any_ attention makes me nervous. I'd rather not meet whoever 'they' are in a dark alley is all.”

Athera was reminded of the shadowy figures she had witnessed the previous night and felt a small shiver of unease run through her. “I think that is a sensible precaution.”

“I'm glad you think so too, although I don't imagine you're scared of anything after all you've seen.”

“You'd be surprised,” Athera confessed. “I was less afraid of the world when I was still back living with my clan. Everything was so much simpler.”

“That's right, you're Dalish aren't you. What does that mean, exactly, if you don't mind my asking? You probably already know there aren't any clans this far north and we don't exactly get taught anything on the subject during our schooling.”

Far from what Dorian must have thought, talk of her people, her clan, was not a painful subject and she appreciated Therasia's swift change of subject. “Dalish are the descendants of those who refused to submit to humans after the exalted march of the Dales. The blood of the surviving noble houses run in many of the clans. It's how we get our clan names. People like to believe we have the purest blood from the time of Arlathan.”

“Is that true?” Therasia gasped, “are you a noble of your people?”

“Do I look noble to you?” Athera snorted. She hated to ruin the girl's likely romanticised view of her people, but she couldn't paint them as anything more than they were. Or had been at least. “I carry the name Lavellan, which might well have been a noble one, but after a few hundred years it becomes just that though, a name.”

“Hundreds of years or not, bloodlines are important to some,” Therasia said, grimacing. “I remember having to study records of family lineage as far back as the Divine age. That is a _very_ large tree which I will be glad to never revisit again.”

“The only reason the Dalish are different is because they refuse to give up the old ways. Better to be living in the wilds than to submit to whatever humans ask of them.”

“You have to admit, that is a noble ideal though. Keeping the memory of a great civilisation alive through all the ages.”

“I thought so too, once, until I learnt the real truth as doubtless many others have now too. Elvhenan wasn't too much separated from Tevinter as it is now. Our gods nothing more than powerful mages who liked to be worshipped a little too much.” Save one, she thought privately. Even now she couldn't quite manage to reconcile the idea that the man she loved was revered as a god. Perhaps if that was how he had first come to her, but no- to her Solas was just Solas.

Drumming her fingers over her lips, Therasia took a moment to consider her words before responding. “I've heard of the magical properties of elven blood, but I have never thought them to be particularly more powerful than any other mage. If they weren't _something_ more, how did one of them make the veil?”

Athera shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know. They weren't the same as us, but they weren't gods either. I just know the things I saw Solas do- no normal mage could have done that. That kind of power is-” She trailed off, lost for words and instead turned her head to look out of the window. A sea of lights was flickering to life from behind the glass of windows and street lamps as darkness descended over the city. “I have no more answers than anyone else.”

She didn't begrudge Therasia asking her questions, in fact she was glad to finally be able to talk to someone without having to constantly balance on a knife edge between truth and fiction. What weighed on her were all the things she didn't know. Would removing the veil really destroy their world. If so, how could so many be willing to sacrifice it? Solas could be lying to them, she supposed, but despite everything, Athera didn't think he would do that. Perhaps the elves would be spared from whatever destruction came about and regain their lost immortality. Time and time again she'd asked herself these things and was still no closer to an answer.

“I had someone I loved once too,” Therasia said wistfully. It was such a sudden change of subject that it jarred Athera out of the pensive mood she was comfortably slipping into. She turned back and cocked her head questioningly. “We grew up together. He was my best friend,” she sighed. “I was so happy when our families started talking of marriage and I thought he was too. He seemed it, at least.”

“What happened?” Perhaps it was because part of her saw Therasia as some sort of comrade in arms, another victim of the thing called love, but Athera found herself genuinely wanting to hear the story.

“He left. One afternoon he came to me and told me big things were happening and he had something important to do. He wouldn't tell me what exactly, only that he would come back to me when it was done. That was almost three years ago.”

“Do you think he will?”

She smiled sadly, “I don't think so. If I'm honest, I think he left to join the Venatori. He's probably dead by now. I just thought he was better than that. I suppose I didn't really know him very well after all”

“The people we love can be the ones who surprise us the most.” Athera had learned that first hand, around the same time she had come to realise betrayal and forgiveness weren't quite as black and white as she had first thought.

“Indeed they can. I just wanted you to know, it might not be on the same scale, but I understand.” She reached across the space between them and placed her hand on top of Athera's. That small gesture of warmth and kinship was enough to penetrate into the deep places of her though, places that had felt cold for far too long. The well of sorrow and loss she had kept dammed up all this time was no match for the compassion and sympathy Therasia now showed and it surged forth before Athera even knew what she was about.

“I miss him,” she sobbed, “ I miss him _so much._ And so help me but I still love him. Why-” Her words were drowned under the unabating tears.

Therasia sat silently, patting her hand soothingly until Athera finally exhausted herself. She passed her a floral scented handkerchief to clean herself up with.

“I'm sorry,” she hiccuped, “I shouldn't have.” In the wake of her outburst she felt weary, listless and more than a little embarrassed to have lost control like that.

“Maker knows, if anyone deserves a good cry, it's you. It's okay to let it out sometimes.”

Athera wasn't so sure of that. Like it or not, people expected her to be strong, to forge forward when others wouldn't. Still, she appreciated the sentiment and it gave her some comfort that there was at least one person who didn't need anything from her. “Thank you.”

“Us girls need to stick together,” Therasia smiled. “Which is why I'm going to tell you to fix your face quickly.” She peered out of the window, “we're almost home.”

Blowing into the kerchief, Athera peered back out of her own window. They climbed along a road lined with short, cleanly pruned trees and completely devoid of other buildings. She realised then that they had already entered the estate belonging to Therasia's family and even though she couldn't see the house itself, she knew they couldn't be more than a few minutes away at most.

That her previous breakdown had rendered her too emotionally numb to feel any sense of nervousness was a blessing, she thought when the road curved at the loop in front of a stately manor house made of stone and darkened timber. Smoke drifted from a high chimney while light from within welcomed their arrival and spoke of other occupants- ones she hadn't been told about.

The coach rolled to a halt and the side door promptly opened by an elderly man. He wore neat black trousers and a matching waistcoat over the top of a cleanly pressed shirt. Grey hair was combed away from a thin and stern looking face. He bowed sharply before offering Therasia a gloved hand to help steady her exit. Athera climbed out behind her, earning the barest of glances.

“Welcome home, my Lady. We are glad to see you returned well from your journey.”

“Thank you, Gelion, but please, there is no need to be so formal.”

“My Lady.”

They followed behind him up to the house, where the door was already open to greet them. Even as they passed through the threshold into a grand entrance hall, half a dozen more people, servants, were emerging from hidden openings. Doors designed to blend in seamlessly with the walls. Athera wasn't sure what surprised her more, that Therasia had servants at all when she had seemed so against the practice, or that they were all human. It was something she would have to ask her about once they were alone again.

Each one gave a quick bow or curtsey before hurrying out to where the coach was still waiting and she realised they were fetching the luggage. She wondered where hers would go and where she would go for that matter. It wasn't as though she could remain hiding behind Therasia's skirts much longer. She didn't want to either. The sooner she was able to set about tracking down one of the agents of Fen Harel, the better.

At the far end of the hall, directly in front of them, a large staircase branched onto each side of the second floor and staring down directly from the center was a mounted portrait of a gentleman looking regal next to a mottled dracolisk.

Athera was finally halted by Gelion at the foot of the stairs just as she made to follow Therasia up them. She had to bring herself up sharp to avoid colliding with his outstretched arm, the suddenness of his action earning an affronted look from her. He wasn't facing her to see it though, or indeed gave any indication that he recognised her existence beyond that one action.

Not knowing what to do, but feeling like she had to do something to help herself, Athera cleared her throat loudly. Therasia stopped mid step and turned at the sound, as she had hoped. Her eyes widened, though Athera was sure it was all part of her performance. At least she hoped it was.

“Oh, I completely forgot. It's been a long day and I must be more tired than I had thought. I decided I need my own handmaid. Could you help her settle in please, Gelion? I think I'd like a nap before going over duties with her.”

Still holding his arm out to stop her advancing, the old man bent stiffly at the waste. “Of course.”

Therasia took that moment to give Athera a meaningful look and an almost imperceptible nod of her head. It was all Athera needed to know the situation was under control.

Therasia thanked him and continued up onto the second floor before disappearing around a corridor.

Now alone together, Gelion faced her for the first time. Critical grey eyes looked her over thoroughly in appraisal and he sighed wearily. “Wretched and crippled no less. The young mistress ever did feel pity for the unfortunate. Come along then.”

Unsure as to whether he meant to be insulting or just stating facts as he saw them, Athera let the comments roll off her regardless and followed after him through one of the cleverly disguised doors into a dim corridor. The grey confines pressed in on her from all sides, suffocating and stale, like one of the many ruins she had been in. Ruin or tomb.

They took a turn and descended a single, short flight of spiral steps. Athera couldn't be sure, but it seemed to her that they were now underground and seemingly heading straight for a dead end until Gelion slid open another wall before them.

They emerged into a large kitchen, where somehow a number of the faces she had seen in the entrance hall had made it back to and were now sat about a long dining table, finishing the remainder of an earlier meal. A small fire had been lit in a cavernous fireplace and it popped and snapped beneath a hanging cooking pot. The scent of meat and herbs which came from its direction set her stomach growling and reminded her that she hadn't eaten since that morning before their departure.

The sound drew Gelion's attention back to her. “I take that to mean you want feeding then?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me, I didn't cook it. Girl, fetch another bowl.”

The girl in question, a plain faced teen with a surly expression muttered something under her breath, but nevertheless dropped her spoon and got up from the table to do as he asked. From the space beside where she had been sat, a larger woman, her mother judging by the resemblance they bore, also rose to her feet, rubbing her hands on the front of the slightly grubby apron she wore.

“What's this then?

“The newest member of the household. She will attend our young mistress personally, it seems.”

“What, a dagger?” Returning to the table, the teen deftly avoided her mother's half hearted swat and slid a wooden bowl, half filled with stew to an unoccupied space. “She doesn't even have an arm.”

“Quiet, Edda!”

“What? She doesn't.”

“It isn't for us to question,” Gelion told the girl firmly and took up a seat and the table, indicating for Athera to do the same.

She took the spot apparently assigned to her, a little ways down the table from the others and after picking out a spoon from a pile of cutlery already laid out, tucked into her supper. If she had for a moment questioned the treatment of these people, her doubts were quickly put to rest. The stew was rich and flavourful, as good as anything she had eaten back in Skyhold and the heat of it warmed her from the inside out. Slaves did not get to eat like this.

“Not one for manners, is it?” One of the others sneered.

Athera froze, spoon half way to her lips, and looked at the man. He was middling of age, with slicked back dark hair and and a shadow of stubble growth. A fake smile plastered itself on his face. Deciding he wasn't worth feeling ashamed over, she mirrored his expression and continued with her meal.

“A fine one to talk, you.” Likely the eldest one among them, a withered old crone with a frazzled nest of grey hair kept in check by a polka dot kerchief crowed. “What do you know about manners when you spend most of your time with horses?”

“I'll have you know not a bad word has been said about my service,” the man flushed.

The pair bickered back and forth, interrupted occasionally by one of the others with something of their own to add. There was more that could be gleaned from listening to their exchange, Athera thought, than by any meet and greet, with each name or location they so casually tossed about a useful bit of information for her.

After allowing the back and forth to continue a while longer, Gelion, who she now knew to be head of the staff, was the one who put a stop to it. At the sound of his mug slamming down, the good natured quarrelling came to an abrupt halt.

“I think that's quite enough for one night. It's late, you should all be returning to your rooms.”

Surprisingly, there were no arguments from anyone. The spirited atmosphere quickly turned subdued as they quickly finished up what was left of supper before piling their bowls and gradually trickling out of the kitchen. Only Edda's mother remained, busying herself with tidying by the time Gelion was ready to take her on the next step of her grand tour.

“I could help,” Athera offered, seeing the plump woman scoop up the entire tower of bowls into her arms. That she didn't drop a single one was a level of skill Athera was sure she would never possess.

The woman scoffed at her. “Don't talk nonsense. I'll not have a waif like you taking my work.”

“I was only offering.”

“We all have our places,”Gelion spoke up in the same tone she had heard hahren use when instructing particularly slow learners. She didn't think it entirely fair for it to be directed at her now. “Hers is the kitchen. Yours is not. Unless you are sent on an errand or need food, you have no business down here. Now come along, I do wish to see my own bed tonight.”

Having already got the impression that her presence in the house wasn't a welcome one and not wanting to make matters worse, Athera was quick in obeying. She hoped that by being quiet and unassuming enough, her comings and goings in the future would be less observed.

“These passages are mostly used by the maids to get around the manor unseen. It is easy to get lost when you are unfamiliar with them, but as you will be personally attending the young Mistress, you may walk about freely.”

“What about the others?” She wondered aloud. There had been faces she had seen in the entrance hall that hadn't been in the kitchen. Could they have been the maids he spoke of, so low in position that perhaps they weren't even to eat with the others?

“Already back in the servants quarters,” Gelion replied matter of factly. “As is their place. Their job is not to be seen and they do it well. Yours is to do what is asked of you. No questions, no arguments. Currently only the young Mistress is in residence so I trust you will not get yourself in too much trouble, but you must remember your place. She has a bad habit of being overly familiar with the staff. Do not encourage it. You are a servant, a stray she has taken pity on. Not a friend.”

Yes, all forbid she dared step out of her _place_ , Athera thought, feeling an irrational dislike for the word build inside of her. At no point had she imagined being a servant to be so regimented. So far the importance these people had shown for ranks would be enough to put an army to shame. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Leaving the confines of the hidden passages, they emerged onto a long corridor. None of the wall torches had been lit, but scant light from the unseen moon filtered in through a tall and thin arched window. A worn, patterned rug carpeted its length, muting their footsteps. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity, or maybe it was the way the shadows played in the corners, but there was something unsettling about the place.

_Now is not the time to lose your nerve_ , Athera scolded herself. She was tired, nothing more.

They passed two doors, only to stop in front of the third. The same number continued further along.

“This will be your room. You will find your belongings already inside. You will report to the kitchen at sunrise for further instruction. Are the any questions?” From his tone of voice, he made it clear that none were to be asked.

“No, thank you.”

“Good.”

Though obvious their interaction had come to an end, he remained watching her like a hawk, until Athera realised he was waiting for her to enter.

The door swung open easily and the draft of stale air she expected never came. Instead, the faint lavender scent of polishing wax still lingered in the small, sparsely furnished room. Evidently whoever cleaned the house took pride in doing their job if they even took the effort of freshening unused chambers.

Crossing the threshold felt like passing through a boundary spell. She was certain without a doubt that the stiff Gelion would not enter the room now that it had been assigned an occupant. Beyond the wooden frame, she might be considered property, but inside that small space, she would be allowed a measure of privacy. The knowledge bought with it a rush of relief. She had spent so much of the past few days convincing everyone that she would be fine, that she hadn't considered how hard it might have been had she been forced to spend every moment under the watchful, judgemental eyes of others. Having become accustomed to a solitary lifestyle in the wilderness, suddenly being around so many others was already becoming uncomfortable.

Apparently satisfied that she wasn't about to run off and loot the place, Gelion bade her get some sleep and closed the door on her. She leant with her back against it, listening for his retreating footsteps.

A heady combination of relief and tiredness took her and she slid to the floor. A simple slat bed with a small stand beside it and a dresser for her clothes was all that decorated the room in the way of furniture. Her luggage had been left against the wall, ready for her to unpack, but just the idea of doing so was more effort than she cared to give.

Athera kicked her shoes off and grunting with effort, propelled herself up and away from the door, clearing the space to the bed in three short steps. She didn't even bother undressing herself before peeling back the thin blankets and crawling under them. There would be many things to think on and much she had to do, but right then all she wanted was the oblivion that only sleep could offer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long gap between this chapter and the last, life has become a little hectic, to say the least. Still bashing it out when I have the time though and it's definitely not been forgotten! Updates may be sporadic for a while though.


	9. Rumbles of a Storm

Athera found herself outside the door to Therasia's private rooms, tea tray in hand, little after the eighth hour the next morning. Her ears strained for any indication that the other woman was moving, if at all awake on the other side. There was nothing but silence though, punctuated only by birds calling beyond the walls of the manor. She sighed and studied the red markings of the glyph etched into the white porcelain of the tray again. It's mild heat warmed her palm pleasantly.

She'd awoken early, just before dawn, as had become her custom in recent months and had set about unpacking her things before getting herself ready with the plan to have everything in order so that she could start gathering information as soon as possible. She hadn't expected to be left idling in the hall after having a tea set thrust upon her almost as soon as she'd entered the kitchen and marched to her current position by the ever unsmiling Gelion.

Deciding she was done waiting and reasoning that she wasn't really a servant anyway, Athera tapped the door with her foot. When there was no response, she did it again, harder this time. The sound echoed down the hall and she hoped no one had been close enough to hear it, imagining the scolding she would receive later if they had.

Moments later, Therasia opened the door, looking slightly dishevelled but not sporting the bleary eyes of someone suddenly woken.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Bringing you your morning tea.” She held the tray out as evidence.

“My morning- why?”

“Isn't that my job now? Can I come in?”

Flustered, Therasia ushered her through. The room was open and light, decorated in shades of pale pink. Powdery blue and lavender flowers arranged themselves in vases along ornate shelves, their sweet scent carried on the breeze coming in from wide glass doors which opened out onto a balcony. A golden harp almost as tall as she was took pride of place in one corner, twin book cases and a desk dominating another. Vivienne would greatly approve of all the opulence, Athera found herself thinking.

Taking the tray from her and setting it atop a dainty glass table, Therasia motioned for her to sit on a plush, satin cushioned couch in the middle of the room. “I'm so sorry. I've never had a personal maid before. I didn't think they would have you up so early.”

“I don't know, the woman in the kitchen seemed to think you had tea this time most mornings.”

“Well yes, but I always send for it. I never have it brought to me.” She settled on the chaise longue on the opposite side of the table. “I thought to give you some time to unpack or make plans or something.”

“The people here are all very punctual,” Athera said after a pause. “They take pride in it. I don't get to be any different.”

“They're sticklers for rules, you mean?” Therasia grinned. “Don't worry, I know. It's been the same since I was a girl. Most have have been here since before I was even born, but not once have any of them just called me by my name. Half of them won't even make eye contact, let alone talk to me. Some might as well be ghosts.”

“Don't you find that odd?” Athera could still remember with cold clarity the one time a servant, another elf, no less, had acted afraid of her. Since it was the only time it ever happened, she had put it down to the uneasiness surrounding her closure of the first rift, but still, the memory had stayed with her.

“Not really,” Therasia poured herself some tea. “That's how it's always been. My father makes sure they are paid and treated well, which is more than what can be said for most. They respect him and in turn, respect the boundaries he sets-” She shrugged.

“They are all paid? I find that surprising, given Tevinter's reputation. Your father sounds like a good man.”

“Don't praise him too soon. He may be against slavery in the family home, but he doesn't extend the sentiments outside of it. Not to mention he only applies it to humans. He'll just about tolerate dwarves for their trade, but elves and qunari, well I think the less said about that, the better.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“He spends the colder months with mother in Minrathous. He won't even know you're here. I doubt I'll hear from either of them until Spring, unless they suddenly decide to marry me off. As long as I spend my time bettering myself as a mage and doing the family name proud, they don't really care what I get up to.”

“I take it they don't know about your involvement with the Lucerni then?” Athera asked. She'd been led to believe by Dorian that the group wasn't a secretive one, indeed he had been pushing for quite the opposite. The more exposure they received, the more likely others who harboured similar wishes for change would join them.

“Could you imagine?” Therasia laughed, a bright, sunny sound. “They would lock me up until the soonest time they could find a suitable, traditional husband who would guide me on the right path. No, best they don't find out. It's only because our house and house Pavus have a long history that they don't object to me associating with Dorian. Granted they don't know the extent of it, but what they don't know can't hurt them. Or me.”

Athera was inclined to agree. In the short time they had known each other, she'd come to like Therasia a great deal. She did not withhold her sincere warmth and kindness, a quality many would see as weakness and seek to take advantage of, and yet still harboured the courage and determination needed to actively seek change. To see her cowed would be a tragedy.

“Listen to me warbling on. You're probably eager to do whatever it is you plan to do.”

Athera didn't try to argue. She hadn't wanted to interrupt and it wasn't as though she didn't like talking normally like this, but Therasia wasn't wrong. She hadn't come here for polite conversation and tea. “I need to be where there are other elves. They are the only ones who might know where I can find these agents of Fen'Harel.

“I was thinking about that after we parted yesterday. I thought perhaps you could accompany me shopping? I made a list of places we could go that would best help you learn landmarks. It won't be as good as a proper tour, of course, but it would certainly be a starting point. If we start off with the dress maker-”

Athera stopped her before she could continue. It didn't take much to know that no one would even think of talking to her had she her aristocrat master in tow. “I'm sorry, Therasia, but I think it would be best if I went alone. It might raise suspicions if I start asking questions with you nearby.”

Therasia pouted, eyes downcast studying the contents of her cup. “You're right, I know. I just thought it would be safer.”

Athera wanted to laugh. Nothing about her life in recent memory had been safe. She had seen more, fought more, endured more than she could have ever imagined possible and there Therasia was, worried about her being alone in a strange city. The very idea of it was absurd. “I think I'll be alright.”

Putting the cup down, the young Tevene looked at her squarely. “Do not underestimate the dangers you may face. Things are different here than they are in the south. Not all of the stories told are untrue and you cannot use magic if something does happen.”

Shame coloured Athera's confidence and she wondered when she had become so arrogant as to be able to so easily dismiss such concerns. Therasia was right, of course. Should anything go amiss, she would not be able to fight back, not without exposing herself as more than she was pretending to be. And there were many things that could go amiss.

“Don't give me that look. I might not be able to accompany you, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you go alone. You'll have my driver take you into the city and wait there until you're ready to come back. You're still going shopping, just without me I suppose. Here, I made a list.” She slid a folded slip of paper across the table. “Asking for directions is a good way to start a conversation, after all.”

Once again she had underestimated her host and once again she regretted it. Unfolding the note, she scanned down the list, her forehead creasing as she reached the end. It wasn't so much the places, but the items marked beside them that caused her confusion.

“What kind of list is this?”

“It is a little unusual, I admit, but I chose the vendors for their position in the city, not for how useful they are. You can't very well just go in and not buy anything though so I had to have _something_ on there.”

“Leather strips, candles, ribbons, cake and wine? Sounds like one hell of a night.”

Therasia smirked wickedly. “Don't be absurd. Unless there's whips and chains, maybe a little blood letting, it would be positively tame by Tevinter standards.”

Athera was reasonably certain she was only joking.

Therasia sighed, leaning back into her chair. “As for me, I suppose I should get around to replying to the pile of letters waiting. Can't wait. I can send for Claude to ready the carriage now, if you're ready?”

She nodded solemnly. Ready had long since passed.

 

Lightning flashed across Claude's features, illuminating the grim planes of his face under the leather of his hood. Moments later a rumbling peal of thunder echoed in the skies, bringing the first drops of rain in its wake. He cursed up at the darkened clouds before turning his attention back to Athera.

“I'll be waiting inside. Try not to be too long.”

Athera watched after him until he disappeared into the coach house. It wasn't much more than a shack really, erected next to a sheltered station where the gentry's carriages could be left under the watchful eye of the city guard. Those not lucky enough to bear a suit of arms were left waiting outside in the rain. Evidently, those drivers were not permitted entry into the coach house either, judging from the miserable expressions as the rain began to come down harder. The horses whickered and tossed their heads nervously as another roll of thunder crashed overhead.

Having been pointed in the general direction of the nearest name on the list by Claude, Athera set off through the streets, flitting between overhangs and awnings in an attempt to stay as dry as she could. Though the late summer air was still mild, the rain was cold and she didn't relish the idea of spending the day with a wet dress clinging to her.

The change in weather had sent many people indoors and those still out were like herself, running errands for those more important than them, or tradesmen, working come rain or shine.

Passing beneath an archway, she emerged out into an open courtyard. Vibrant flowers in a rainbow myriad of colours encircled a multi tiered fountain, it's bubbling song making a liquid chorus with the rain. The same flowers filled several hanging baskets decorating the front of one of the stores. A swaying wooden sign above the door marked it out as the florist, if she hadn't been able to tell already.

A rosy cheeked girl behind the counter looked up from the book she'd been reading when Athera entered, the jingling of bells alerting her to a customer. Whatever greeting she was about to give was lost once she realised it wasn't one of her usual clientele.

“Can I help you?” She asked, just about managing to keep her voice friendly.

“It smells wonderful in here,” Athera observed as she approached.

“We only stock the best,” the girl said, still eyeing her with barely veiled suspicion. She couldn't have long been out of her teens, Athera realised upon getting closer. Certainly not old enough to be the owner of a business. “Is there something in particular you're looking for?”

“Yes,” she said, drawing the list from within the pleated folds of material that draped elegantly over her left shoulder, covering her arm whilst simultaneously managing to not draw attention to it. “I'm looking for these.”

The girl looked down at it, chewing on the corner of her lip. “I'll need to get the owner,” she said eventually, “these are limited stock. We usually only take orders. Do you mind?”

“No, of course. I'll look for something else, just in case.”

The girl flashed a quick, cursory smile before disappearing behind a curtain separating the shop front from the rest of the building.

Wondering if she might be in the wrong place, Athera checked the name on the list to make sure it matched with the one above the door. She wasn't wrong, which meant either Therasia was a special exception to their rule, or she simply wasn't welcome. Both seemed equally likely, she thought.

The low sounds of a hushed conversation reached her from the other side of the curtain and she strained her ears to try and make out what they were saying. She might have been trying to understand ghosts for all the good it did her though, contending with the muted sounds of the storm outside.

Shortly after the girl re-emerged, followed closely by another woman. She didn't look happy to be disturbed.

“I'm sorry,” she said, stepping past the girl, “but we don't-Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth in alarm. Athera absently noted the greenish stains under her nails from the handling of plants. “Forgive me, you must be here for Lady Deucalion. My assistant failed to mention that,” she cast a dark look at the girl, who quickly lowered her eyes. “Let me help you instead. I'm the owner.”

For a moment, Athera couldn't understand how the woman had managed to accurately guess her supposed employment until she remembered the moonstone broach pinned to her breast. A milky gull over an opalescent streak of lightning. It appeared she would be marked out by that as surely as she would by the shape of her ears.

The woman set about gathering up blooms of soft purples and pale blues, the same ones Athera had seen in Therasia's quarters.

“These ones aren't native to Tevinter so they need extra care to make sure they blossom well. I see to it they get everything they need though, just like I see to it that your mistress gets only the best. You get top service and a smile here too, you be sure to tell the Lady that we were good to you, okay? Good girl.”

Athera bobbed her head and made a vague affirmative noise, which was enough to satisfy the woman, who by now was wrapping the bouquet in a damp linen cloth.

After parting with some silver and tucking the flowers away in the basket she carried, Athera headed back out into the streets. The storm hadn't let up at all and puddles had begun to form on the rain slicked cobbles. She frowned, wishing she'd had something sturdier than the flimsy slippers on her feet. Retracing her steps back through the archway, she looked about for any indicator of where she should go next. A sign pointing to the docks wobbled in the wind, but heading in that direction would only take her further away from the markets. It was then that she noticed she was being watched.

Huddled close to each other and half hidden in the alcove of a doorway, two elves looked her way. On realising she had seen them, the smaller of the two, who she couldn't see very well, said something to the taller one, who shook his head slightly and hustled the smaller one further out of sight.

Athera's heart hammered wildly in her chest and her legs quivered with every step closer she took towards them. Without her cloak, without her invisibility, her _magic_ , she felt she might as well be naked in the presence of other elvhen. She felt certain that they would see through the painted hair and fold of cloth she called a disguise and know her for the imposter she was.

“Well met,” the male said, his voice lacking any warmth. Oddly, that made her feel a little better. “You shouldn't be lingering in weather like this. If I were you, I'd hurry on.”

The other shifted behind him, wide hazel eyes looking out from under the deep hood of the cloak she wore. The waxed garment was too big for her small frame, hanging from slight shoulders to pool about her feet. It was his then, Athera realised, and she'd likely stumbled upon some secret lovers tryst. It would explain why they had been looking at her anyway, she thought with some relief.

“I'm lost,” She admitted, hoping her nerves would serve in making her seem convincingly guileless. “Could you help me?”

His eyes alighted upon her broach and he licked his lips, nervously, she thought. “What kind of help?”

Thrown by his strange reaction, Athera didn't respond right away and when she did her voice pitched, making her answer seem more of a question. “Just some directions.”

He looked back to his companion and she waited while some unspoken decision passed between the two. Overhead another crash echoed through the clouds, further away now, although she didn't think the retreating thunder would take the incessant rain with it.

“Alright,” He said finally, “where is it you need to get to?”

Rather than risk the list being spoiled, she said the first thing on the list she remembered from the top of her head. Confectioners, after all, held a sweet promise that easily came to memory.

“Which one?” He asked, testily.

“The one which sells cakes?” Athera knew she was being facetious and likely wouldn't make any friends that way, but she couldn't understand what his problem was when he was the one stood under shelter whilst she was getting soaked. All she was asking was a few moments and then he could get back to romancing his beau.

“Temple road.”

Athera wasn't sure who was more shocked when said beau spoke, her slight figure stepping round to stand abreast of her suitor.

“Keep heading in the direction you were going until you get to the chantry, then take the street to your right. I see a lot of high born go in and out of that one.”

It wasn't the interaction she'd been hoping for, but at least now she had a destination and she supposed there would be plenty more chances to talk with others. Hopefully less difficult ones that didn't test her ability to stay friendly for more than a few minutes. She wasn't quite ready for that level of interaction yet.

“Ma serannas.” She said in the tongue of her people. Whether they would understand or not she could only hope. Most of the elves dwelling in cities would only know a word or two of their ancestral language at best, but surely an agent of Fen'Harel would at least recognise it and understand her to be friendly.

It wasn't much, but she didn't feel like she could leave without giving some indication, however small, of what she was about. Something that said she was for the elves. She would always be for the elves.

The male's eyes narrowed at her. “You should be going now,” he said darkly.

The sounds of their hushed quarrel were quickly drowned out by the drumming of rain, which Athera was eager to be out of. Her hopes of staying dry to any degree had swiftly been dispersed, leaving her squirming uncomfortably within the confines of her wretched dress. What she wouldn't give for more practical garb and footwear that didn't have her toes rubbing painfully against tightening leather.

So much for better weather in the north, she thought, stepping around a sizeable puddle and slipping into a narrow lane between two rows of buildings so as not to get sprayed by the wheels of a passing carriage. She watched it turn a corner, the racket of its passing echoing across the lonely cobbles even after it had long since vanished from sight. Too long, she realised. The noise wasn't getting further away, but coming closer and the crack of hooves had slowed and dulled to the rhythmic thud of of a creature on two legs.

She spun about just in time to see the robed figure of a man come careening down the passage. Where he had come from, she didn't know, but she hadn't the time to move clear of his path and he didn't break his speed.

Athera grunted with the impact of the larger man colliding with her and fought to steady them both. He half slumped against her, his fingers weakly grabbing at the front of her dress, and only now did she hear his laboured, wheezing breaths. Black hair plastered itself to his forehead, dripping water into dark brown eyes, large with fevered panic.

“Please...” He coughed and a spasm of pain wracked him his form. Blood dribbled from his lips and down his chin. “Help me.”

Athera knew she could not.

Crimson bloomed from a wound in his abdomen, staining the entire front of his robe as his life blood ebbed away. She had seen men die from less and she did not possess the skill of healing needed to knit his flesh together to save him.

“Help.” He begged in a voice strained with suffering.

Athera cast a furtive look around to see if anyone else was near by.

“It's alright, I have you,” she soothed. There was no way she could mend him, but she could at least ease his pain before he passed.

Warm blue light spilled from her splayed fingers and danced across his chest, slowly spreading out to infuse his body entirely.

A tremor ran through him and he raised his head to meet her eyes. “Mage,” he gasped. His hands balled the material of her dress into fists and he shuddered violently, a strangled cry tearing its way from his throat.

And then all was silent save for the steady drumming of rain.

Athera lowered his body to the ground and reached out with a shaking hand to check for a heartbeat, her fingertips leaving red smears on his pallid skin.

He was dead.

 


	10. The Dancing Dog

A murky red puddle had began to form in earnest about them before Athera had enough sense to gather up her dropped basket and move away from the body of the elven mage. As wrong as it felt to just leave him lying there, she couldn't be found next to his dead body. Whoever had stabbed him could still be close by and even if they hadn't bothered to pursue their victim it was likely someone had heard his dying cry and would soon come to investigate.

His still open eyes seemed to stare up at her accusingly.

She hoped his soul would find peace and forgive her, but no prayers were said for Falon'Din. Not any more.

She took no more than two steps before stopping, realising she wouldn't be able to carry out her plans as she was now. Bloody smears decorated the front of her dress, including the one she'd made by absently wiping her hand clean on it. Caught by the body or not, she didn't imagine many people would overlook that little detail.

Athera quickly dismissed the idea of trying to make her own way back to the house. While she had been mapping the roads through the window of the carriage, she wasn't fool enough to believe she could make it alone yet.

Setting the basket back down and holding the money pouch between her teeth, she fiddled with the sash, pulling at the material to loosen its pleats and twisting it around her shoulders until it about covered the worst of the stains. Those that weren't she could conceal with the basket and the flowers within. She would look a bit silly, but it was preferable to the alternative until she could get back to the coach station and feed Claude an excuse as to why they had to leave.

Once more retrieving her things, Athera hurried from the alley.

“Where do you think you're going?”

Athera froze guiltily and it was with some effort that she forced herself not to run or ready to fight, but to slowly turn and face the owner of the voice.

Holding her in a cold, steady stare, a woman peeled away from the wall she had been hiding behind. Garb of hardened hide and tempered steel under a sturdy rain cloak marked her as a fighter of some sort, although Athera didn't think it likely she was of the city watch. The unsheathed short sword at her side was unbloodied, dispelling Athera's second thought that she might have been the killer.

“Trying to flee the scene of the crime?”

That she had been caught didn't worry her as much as the possibility someone had seen her using magic. With her connections and influence she didn't doubt Therasia could get her out of a good deal of trouble, but getting outed as a mage already would destroy everything she was trying to achieve. She had to ascertain how much the woman had seen and if necessary, deal with it.

“If you were there all the while, you know what happened. Why didn't you help?”

The woman's leonine eyes narrowed and she stalked closer. Her movements were as controlled and precise as any hunter Athera had met. Little wonder she hadn't been aware of her presence.

“The only thing I know is that there was a cry and then out you come minutes later, poorly hiding the evidence you so carelessly got all over yourself.”

“You're the one with a blade who just _happened_ to be lurking nearby. If you'd wanted to help, you could have. Maybe he could have been saved.”

The woman cocked her head and stepped into the mouth of the alley, casting a quick sideways glance at the dead mage. She made a noise of disgust before turning her full attention back to Athera again.

“There was no helping him. And unless you swapped your masculinity for skirts, it wasn't you who killed him either.”

“If you knew, why did you-?” Athera sucked in a breath to calm herself and save her from saying something she might regret. Despite being soaked through, getting a poor reception from the locals and having a man die in her arms before the sun had even reached its zenith, she hadn't been discovered and that, she told herself, was what mattered.

“You might not have done the deed, but you are a witness. The only one I have right now, so until I've got what I need from you, you aren't going anywhere.” Gloved fingers tightened about the pommel of her sword, a subtle warning Athera understood.

“Look, I didn't see anything. I can't help you.”

“I think I'll be the one to decide that.” Her free hand clamped down around Athera's wrist, not hard enough to be painful, but firm enough that she wouldn't have been able to shrug her off.

Athera ground her teeth together tightly, controlling the rising surge of mana within her. The force of it burned hot, fuelled by the potent combination of alarm and anger.

“Let go of me,” she hissed, jerking her arm away to no avail. The woman pulled back, bringing her in closer than before, close enough that Athera could smell traces of smoke lingering on her breath.

“Unless you want to get picked up by the guard, I suggest you stop making a fuss and come with me quietly.”

Athera wasn't sure which was worse, not being able to protect herself or knowing her interrogator was right, even if she had been able to fight back. She wouldn't claim to have great knowledge of Tevene custom, but it didn't take much to know the word of an elf servant carried little to no weight. If it came down to it, she didn't doubt the woman would throw her to the wolves to save her own hide.

With little choice but to obey, she grudgingly allowed herself to be led away, through a maze of cobbled streets and shady back alleys. They kept a pace slow enough that they wouldn't draw suspicion from any onlookers, but despite her best attempts, Athera quickly lost any sense of direction. She had a feeling they had been past certain locations several times and guessed the woman was purposely trying to confuse her.

Eventually they stopped in front of a nondescript door in an alley just like all the others before it. No sign gave the building away as any sort of establishment and no light shone from the windows, half boarded over with peeling planks and copper rusted nails.

There were worse places than an abandoned building to be taken to, Athera decided. At least inside she could fight back without any witnesses if she had to.

Instead of trying to force her inside though, the woman rapped her fist against the door in a series of successive knocks.

“Don't say anything, don't do anything and keep your head down.”

No sooner had she said her piece then the door opened a crack, held from going any further by a chain link. A pair of thick, bushy brows, narrowed eyes, a slightly crooked nose and the furry beginning of a moustache appeared in the gap.

“It's me.”

The man sniffed. “Password.”

“Open the door before I get impatient and run you through.”

“You know the rules. I can't-”

The woman made to unsheathe her sword, the hissing of metal scraping over the scabbard making the man's eyes widen in alarm. The fumbling of opening locks swiftly followed and the door creaked open just enough to allow them in.

A single lantern cast a low light around a room unfurnished save a lone chair near the door and a moth eaten rug, rolled up next to a large hatch in the floor.

“Don't think I won't report this,” the man threatened, sliding the bolts back into place behind them.

Paying his words no heed, she ushered Athera further inside and and crouched to open the hatch door. A rush of warm air, laced with the potent scent of liquor and smoke that tasted of spice in the back of Athera's throat came from within.

Rising to her feet, the woman indicated with a tilt of her head that Athera should go first.

She hesitated at the mouth of the entrance. A dull light spilled out from an opening at the bottom of the stairs and the muted sound of scattered conversations could definitely be heard from below, causing a lump of uneasiness to settle in her stomach. Visions of private auctions and secret fighting rings she had heard of in cautionary tales played out in her mind.

“Go on then.” Her would be interrogator had come up beside her again and nudged her forward.

She took the steps carefully, unable to shake the nagging feeling that a hard shove from behind might come at any moment. It didn't though and the narrow walls opened up into a homely communal area, currently occupied by half a dozen or so individuals. Behind a small bar, a giantess of a woman, her sizeable breasts pushed up for maximum effect, spoke quietly with a flirtatious smile to one of her patrons. Closest to that a group huddled over a table, deep in spirited conversation, the one seeming to lead the discussion waving his hands in animated gestures as he regaled them with some tale. A young, handsome man, sat rocking in a chair, looked up at them as they entered. Unimpressed, he flicked a stray black curl from his forehead and buried his nose back in the book he had been reading.

Athera was shepherded to the back of the room, to a small table set apart from the others and pushed down onto one of the battered leather stools.

“Now we can talk properly.” Settling herself opposite, the woman pulled her hood back and removed her helmet, setting it down in before her. Free of their confines, thin braids of copper gold, decorated with coloured beads tumbled about her shoulders. A jagged, but pale and faded scar cut across her nose and down her cheek, ending just below a squared jaw line. Far from taking away from her appearance, it only served to add to her already fiercely exotic features.

“Who are you and what is this place?” Athera asked. After following without causing any trouble, she thought it was only fair that she got the first question.

The woman leant back on her stool, her expression unreadable. “It was me who was meant to be asking the questions here. I suppose introductions don't hurt though. My name's Lietha, and this is the Dancing Dog. Now what were you doing back in that alley?”

As frustrating as she found the vagueness of the answer to be, Athera just wanted the entire ordeal to be done with. If it took fabricating a lifetime worth of lies to make her seem plausible and satisfy the woman, that is exactly what she would do. But first, the truth.

“I was lost. I was trying to find my way when that person ran into me. He died before I could do anything,” she said. “I didn't see anyone else.”

“You were just going to leave him then?”

“What else could I do? I'm just a servant, no one would believe me.”

The corner of Lietha's mouth turned up slightly. “Yes, of course. Did he say anything before he died, perhaps?”

Athera had spent too long in the company of those for whom words were as deadly as knives to not see the danger before her. Giving the wrong answer here would only cause anything she said after to lose all credibility, if she was even given the chance to begin with.

“Yes,” she breathed and looked down to where her thumbnail was carving short grooves into the grime of the table top. Something she had observed Sera doing whenever she had been agitated and had ran out of pointy things to throw. “He said 'mage'.”

Lietha moved in again, propping her chin on her fists. Her answer was satisfactory then, for now, at least.

“Do you have any idea what that means?

Athera shook her head. She might have had a few ideas, but she wasn't about to give them over to such obvious probing. Either the woman wasn't as clever as she thought she was, or she'd given up believing Athera was worth being suspicious of. Either option was in her favour. “It isn't my place to guess.”

“That's it? Nothing?” Lietha sighed heavily. “Not that I expected much else, really. If you'd had the balls to kill Haridan, wormy bastard that he was, you wouldn't have been worried about me.”

Seeing the confusion which must have been written plainly across her features, Lietha shrugged. “Can't blame a woman for trying. If you'd been wanting to hide something you wouldn't have handed yourself over so easily, but you're no meek little servant wench either. Call it curiosity. You might have known something.”

Athera had to bite down on the inside of her lip to stop herself from saying something she would likely regret. As galling as it was to know she had fallen victim to the whims of another, she had some questions of her own that needed answers. “You knew him?”

“Not personally,” Lietha said and then made a face. “I'm thirsty. Stay put.” Kicking her stool back, she made her way to the bar, being sure to keep the table in sight all the while.

“Right, where were we then?” She said on return, setting two mugs of something that smelt strongly of hops between them.

Athera very much doubted she had forgotten in the few minutes that had passed, much like she didn't believe for a moment the drink before her was a gesture of goodwill. “You were telling me how you knew him.”

Leitha half smiled. “I said not personally. You're certainly interested in him though. Why is that?”

“He died right in front of me. His blood is on my dress,” she said, though looking down her front she saw she'd done a fine job of covering it. “Of course I want to know about him.”

Leitha seemed to consider that as she took a deep swig of ale, golden eyes fixing her over the chipped rim of the mug. How many people, Athera wondered, had been intimidated into submission by that predatorial gaze alone. It felt like being watched by one of the large hunting cats she had observed in the Frostbacks. Hungry and waiting for its moment to go in for the kill.

“He was an friend of my employer,” she said finally, wiping a stray trickle of liquid from the corner of her mouth with the pad of her thumb. “A mage, obviously, though not a brilliant one, from what I've heard. I doubt he'd have done anything noteworthy enough to get himself killed and normally I wouldn't care, but-” She gestured helplessly. “This is probably another race crime.”

Not so long ago Athera would have angered at the casual dismissal given to the death of another elf by a human, but she had come to realise that most of them weren't even aware of what they were doing. It was a battle she wouldn't win by picking fights with the ignorant. Not that she imaged Lietha was by any means that, especially considering she was clearly waiting for some sort of reaction. “You make it sound like there's been more than normal.”

“Wherever you've been until now really has been sheltered, hasn't it,” Lietha said, looking mildly surprised. “What with the qunari practically banging on our doors and sending spies to have drinks with us and now this newest elven uprising, everyone's on edge.”

“And all elves become a target,” Athera finished bitterly.

“Your kind hardly make it any better for yourselves though. I'm not saying it's all of you, but you don't see as many humans running off to join our enemies, slaves or not, do you?”

Under the table, Athera clenched her fist tightly enough for her nails to bite painfully into the skin of her palm. She had let her guard down once already. She wasn't going to let it happen again. If Lietha's plan was to slip her up by drawing her into an argument, she would need to try harder. “But a mage?”

Lietha shrugged, her braids clattering at the disruption the movement caused. “Being born a mage doesn't make you untouchable. Even less so an elven one. Trust is a rare thing these days and that-” she took another slow drink, “Is enough to make anyone suspicious.”

A movement from the corner of her vision drew her attention. The handsome man stood and threw a dark cloak around himself. The book he had been reading was nowhere to be seen, presumably tucked away somewhere on his person. He pulled the hood down low over his face and left quietly.

A sensation not unlike the one she had whenever she used the magic of her ring closed in on Athera, making everything feel slow and out of time. Then as suddenly as it had come, it was gone again. She turned back to Lietha, who was watching her intently. “Why all the secrecy?”

“Like I said, you don't know who you can trust any more. There are those of us who like a place to come free of – worries,” she said after a pause. “Not just anyone can walk in here.”

“What about me. Won't that cause trouble? The guard didn't seem too pleased.”

Lietha waved her hand dismissively. “He's never pleased. I'd say it's his job to drive people to drink. Feels like it after talking to him anyway.”

“Aren't you worried I might tell someone? It wasn't long ago you were accusing me of murder.”

“I didn't accuse you of anything,” she titled her mug towards her for emphasis before draining it. “I wanted to hear what you had to say as a witness before the guards got there and hauled off my information. And no, you aren't going to tell anyone. You're no mouse, I'll give you that, good for you; but you're painfully honest. Everything is in your face. No one in their right mind would send you out as a spy. Helps that you don't know one street from the next.”

“So that's it then, I'm free to go?” Athera couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into a trap, and though Lietha seemed genuine enough in her words, she herself had said it – there were many who were far better at subterfuge than Athera was.

“That's it, for now. I'll even walk you where you need to go.”

“For now?”

“You don't think this is all over, do you?” Lietha said, amusement saturating her husky voice. “If I caught you there, chances are whoever killed Haridan saw you too. If I were him, I'd want to get rid of any witnesses.”

Athera blanched. She hadn't considered that in her haste to get away. What if she'd disguised herself from one group of people only have herself be hunted by another already. It felt like she kept jumping from one mess into another.

Luckily, Lietha mistook her worry for fear and smiled, although it wasn't one bit reassuring. “Don't worry, I'll be keeping an eye on you. If he shows up, he'll have to explain himself to my employer once I've managed to _persuade_ him to come along nicely.”

Athera didn't know which was worse, not knowing if she was being targeted by a murderer, or knowing that she would have eyes on her movements for an unforeseeable amount of time.

Either way, it seemed her mission had just become a good deal more difficult.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep huge delay in getting that chapter out, but y'know, life. And a huge, heaping helping of writers block. I would shake my fist angrily at it, but I really don't think it cares. How rude.


	11. Slaves

”And that's all of it,” The housekeeper announced with a satisfied clap of her hands. Athera struggled to balance the pile of linen against her torso whilst still trying to see over the top of it.

Days had passed since returning from her encounter with the dead mage in the alley, and rather than continuing her search for information, Therasia had coerced her into remaining on the estate, thinking it would be safer to keep a low profile for a short while. Dependant on the authenticity of the master-servant relationship they had constructed, Athera was given little choice but to go along with her wishes. Considering her present situation though, she wish she'd argued a little more.

“Off you go then!” Despite being shorter than her and hunched over with the weight of many years, the grizzled old housekeeper held authority about her like a well worn cloak; enough so that Athera couldn't help but feel like a child again in her presence. She turned and hurried from the laundry room before the crone saw fit to try scolding her, narrowly avoiding tripping on an errant basket which had found its way from a shelf to the floor. An irritated ' _tsk_ ' from behind her was the only thing preventing her from kicking it in retaliation.

Thankfully, the position she was supposed to be holding was one of apparent importance and excluded her from having to do any real drudgery, but Lady's maid or not, Athera had quickly learnt that if she was to be about the house all day, she would have duties to attend to if she intended to keep up the charade. Mostly they involved taking tea and breakfast to Therasia's room, keeping her company, and chasing up the maids responsible for washing and cleaning in order to make sure she had clean linen and clothes ready at all times. Considering half the staff were terrified of speaking to her and the other half thought she was wildly incompetent – they weren't wrong – that wasn't always the easiest thing to do, especially when she was sure they'd made a game out of who could send her down the most dead ends.

Bypassing the corridor that led to the kitchen and the gossiping workers within, Athera took the stairs up to the top floor where the family's private rooms were, taking extra care as she went not to drop anything and give herself the headache of trying to collect it again without spilling the entire load. What would her clan say if they could see her now, she wondered. She hoped they would understand the necessity behind her actions.

She found Therasia engaged in composing yet another letter at her desk. “Is that what you do for fun?” She asked, depositing the folded sheets atop a cabinet.

The young mage turned and immediately looked guilty. “You don't have to-” She stammered. “I wish you didn't need to-”

“I wouldn't have to if you'd let me get back out there,” Athera bemoaned. It was becoming a very common topic of conversation between them. She appreciated that Therasia was just doing what she thought best, but sitting about the plush room for most of the day making idle conversation and doing the odd chore was already wearing incredibly thin.

“About that,” Therasia said, brightening. “I have some good news for you. Sabina Naevius has invited me to join her this afternoon. Naturally you, as my handmaid, will attend me.”

“I don't see how this is good news,” Athera frowned. As far as things to look forward to went, that was not one of them.

“Listen to the rest. Sabina keeps slaves. Elven slaves. I was thinking whilst we were there, you could talk to some of them, without having to worry about being watched. It's worth trying, don't you agree? There's hardly a great number of them, but consider it practice if nothing else.”

As long as she wouldn't be expected to make niceties with the woman, Athera thought the idea a sound one. Perhaps they would trust her a little more if they saw firsthand that she shared their situation. “Fine,” she said, pacing to the window. It made her feel better to be able to see outside. The rain had finally ceased the previous day, but the sky remained a dull grey, broken only by thin, tremulous shafts of hazy sunlight that glittered on verdant green leaves of the ground's many trees. She understood now why Dorian would complain about the weather in the south now that she was the one in a foreign climate. It was overly humid and sticky, with no relief offered by the warm winds. The bracing air of the mountains seemed like a distant memory, to be savoured whenever it became too much to bare.

“There is something you should know,” Therasia said, setting the wax of whatever she had been writing and putting it aside. “Do you remember that man I told you about on our way here? Sabina is his mother. She is very set in her ways, but she's not a bad person and she's never really got over the death- disappearance of her only son. She still treats me as something of a daughter. If anything ends up happening, please, I'm asking you, don't involve her in it.”

The seriousness of her request caught Athera off guard. Of course it made perfect sense for Theraisa to want to protect those near to her, but that one of those people would be so opposed to her own cause wasn't something she had considered. Not at all surprising though, once she gave it some thought. Those like Therasia and Dorian were still very much the minority. They wouldn't cast aside those they cared about, even if their outlooks were different. “I don't intend to run into any trouble, but-”she said, seeing the beginnings of Therasia's pout, “you have my word.”

“Thank you. Now with that said, here.” Reaching into a drawer, Therasia produced an amber jar and held it out for Athera. “It arrived after you left this morning.”

“Do I really need to apply this so often?” Athera took the jar from her and peered at its content through the glass. It could have been anything. “It seems a bit excessive.”

“It's only been a day and your hair is already lighter. Yes, you really do. And the sooner the better. We've only to midday and you need to let it dry properly this time.”

Athera didn't argue. Instead she followed Therasia's pointed gaze into her private bathing room. At least no one would accuse her of looking feral any more with all the baths she would be taking.

 

**~oOo~**

 

The house loomed up before them with all the grandeur of a crypt. The stone of the building, though free of the choking vines entangling the perimeter wall, was bleached stark bone white and the roof was unnaturally black. Every now and then Athera thought she would see flickering crimson sparks dance across its inky surface. A trick of the light, or magic, she couldn't tell. Long, narrow shadows cast from six, spindly spires crept out before it like fleshless fingers, leaving her chilled, despite the humidity of the afternoon.

Before her, Therasia shared no similar signs of discomfort, skipping ahead to meet the woman waiting for her at the bottom of a row of stairs.

Older than she might have guessed, the woman was tall and slender, wrapped in a stiff and uncomfortable looking plum coloured dress with puffed sleeves. Her hair was mostly white, peppered with a few remaining dark strands. An ornate headdress, inlaid with dawnstone and gold held it back from her narrow face, likely once considered beautiful although now lined and drawn. She looked tired, Athera thought, even as she smiled and welcomed Therasia into her arms.

“My dear child, how good to see you again. I was beginning to think you would never return.”

“I'm sorry. I should have wrote sooner.”

“Far be it for this old lady to occupy a girl's thoughts. Come, I have had a wonderful lunch prepared. You can tell me all about your time away over tea.”

“You must have read my mind,” Therasia gushed excitably. “I have a gift. Rare leaves from the south. They were very popular, but I managed to persuade the merchant in Qarinus to part with his last pouch. They need to be specially prepared though. You,” she said,  and gestured Athera forward.

Athera stepped closer, bowing her head in deference. They had decided before hand that she should say as little as possible whilst around their host, who was by all accounts very much a traditionalist and expected those who served to act and speak in a particular manner.

“She has been instructed on how to make it,” Therasia explained. “Have her taken to your kitchen and I promise you won't be disappointed.”

Not the best of infiltration strategies, Athera knew, but it was the best they had managed to think of.

“Yes, yes, I'll have someone fetch her. Now come along, we are letting a draft in.”

Athera heard the sound of them moving and the click of the door closing and there she was, eyes still cast down on the stony pathway. Daring to look up again she saw she had indeed been left alone and let out a sigh. Fairly certain she wouldn't be left to her own devices for long, she reached into her dress and fished out the wooden pendant. Advised by Therasia to not have it showing where the wrong people could see it, the carved wolf now settled against her breast openly. It was a risk, but she couldn't expect anyone to trust her if she wasn't willing to do the same.

A few minutes passed before the sound of footsteps drew her attention to a small path leading around the side of the manor.

Ruddy faced, with flour smudging her cheek, the woman sent to fetch her seemed none too pleased. She wiped her hands on a stained apron, tightly tied over a worn, brown dress, and looked her over critically. “Alright for some, I suppose. Come on then, kitchen's this way.”

Acerbic tone aside, Athera didn't think the woman's ire to be directed at her personally, but confident it wouldn't take much to change that, was quick to cross the courtyard regardless. An archway of carefully interwoven branches from trees half dead cast the little passage between the house and the wall into near darkness. No leaves crunched underfoot. No creatures nested in the cracking bark. It was as though life had fled the grounds some time ago, leaving only those left bound to the place to keep it stubbornly standing. This wasn't a home. It was a mausoleum filled with memories of a greater time, now suffocating under the weight of its own history.

They broke out into a slate garden, dotted with stubborn weeds and lichen. In its centre, a steady trickle of water dribbled from the mouth of some petrified creature, plucked straight from a stone mason's imagination, into a basin of swampy sludge.

The back door had been left open and from inside Athera could hear someone humming a cheerful melody, the rhythm punctuated by the metallic clanging of pots and pans being handled.

Her guide led her into a kitchen quite out of sorts with everything she had seen so far. Fragrant bunches of herbs hung drying and both rabbits and some form of wild foul were strung from racks above a large hearth, where still glowing embers provided evidence of recent use.

A light dusting of flour remained on the counter top looking out into the garden and the grey light filling in through the frosted panels of the window caught glittering motes suspended in the air.

Next to a basin, bowls and dishes of varying sizes piled up, waiting to be cleaned.

The woman who up until a moment ago had been humming, set the copper pot she'd been scrubbing down and instead chose to brandish a wooden spoon her way.

“What's so special about that there tea then?” She asked, waving the utensil at the pouch worn at Athera's hip. “Not that I'm unwilling to have a job taken of my hands. They're full as they are.”

The one who'd fetched her clucked her tongue. “I suppose I'm just here for decoration then, am I? I'll leave this to you in that case,” she said, grabbing up a dish cloth from the table and flicking it in the direction of the dirty cutlery.

“Oh, untwist your bloomers already,” the second woman snapped. “I've had just about enough of your mood today.”

The first harrumphed and set herself to washing the dishes.

For her part, Athera remained rooted where she stood. She could see a kettle already placed atop a blackened stove, but was she expected to go about her business or wait to be invited? Slave etiquette wasn't something she'd ever taken the time to learn. It was fortunate then, that with peace restored, for the moment at least, attention was turned back to her.

“There's water in the pot, but the stove's not been lit,” The spoon wielder said. “Didn't know if there was something fancy you had to do first.”

Truthfully, Athera hadn't really thought about what she was going to do. Though she'd learnt how to prepare something similar to tea, a Dalish drink, using a mix of herbs, honey and sometimes halla milk, there was no telling how well it would turn out using the normal tea leaves and what substitute herbs she had been able to find in Therasia's pantry. “The water needs to boil before I can start,” she said. “And it needs honey, if you have it.”

“That we do. The mistress likes it on her morning bread. Hettie can find some for you.”

The sharp slam of something against the wooden counter told her Hettie wasn't feeling as amiable as her counterpart. Athera groaned inwardly and prepared for them to start bickering again. She had a hard time imagining either one of them being able to help her.

Hettie turned, mouth open ready to say her piece, only to have her words stolen by the arrival of another.

With three pairs of eyes upon her, the poor girl in the doorway froze, appearing much like a creature staring down the arrow of a hunter. Judging from the way Hettie was looking at her, the comparison was not unwarranted.

“Where have you been?” Hettie demanded, apparently forgetting her previous grievance, for the moment at least.

The girl blinked her wide, hazel eyes and she held out a basket, filled with fresh produce before her like a shield. “The market was busy. There was a line for the summer fruit and half the carrots were bad. I had to pick them carefully.”

“And that took you all morning, did it? Don't give me that twaddle. You were off seeing your fancy man again, weren't you?”

“No, I wasn't- I haven't!” The girl protested, shaking her head so vigorously that a stray curl of cinnamon hair escaped her bonnet. Either she was too flustered to notice, or she didn't care.

“Oh let her be. You know what it's like the first day after the rains.” The other woman said, patting the table. “Bring that over here. I'll need some of those potatoes for tonight before you put them away.”

Remembering that the stove was still sitting cold, Athera glanced around the area for something to light it with and to her dismay, found only a tinder box. She flipped open the lid and with a sinking feeling, realised the tools were designed for those with the use of both hands which left her with two choices. Either she would have to ask someone to help her- which she didn't want to do- or do what she had been doing up until then and use her magic- which she wasn't supposed to do. It didn't seem like anyone was paying any mind to her at that moment though. Surely they wouldn't notice if the spark came from her fingers and not the flint.

“I'm saying this for her own good,” Hettie continued from across the room. “Getting back late, sneaking out- it will only get her punished. We're slaves, we don't get the freedom to do what we want.”

“There's worse places to be than here,” the woman retorted, weighing two fat potatoes in each hand. “It would do you well to remember that too.”

“Easy for you to say. It's not your man through there being salivated over by the old sow whilst I'm in here expected to make her cakes! Personal butler, my arse.” The bitterness in her voice was a palpable thing that settled heavily in the room. There was no retort or sound advice to be offered when the oft unspoken fact remained that they had little to no rights. They were property and the best they could hope for was to keep their heads down and try to make the best of a terrible situation.

Their helpless resignation bought back memories of Hallan's haunted eyes when he had spoken about his forced servitude. Reminded Athera of villagers made to mine red lyrium because they had no other choice.

Every face, every despairing look of those she'd met whose lives had been under the control of another were kindling to the fire lighting itself in her belly. Hot anger, fuelled by the injustice of it all overrode any sense of caution she might have had.

“You don't have to live like this.” The words spilled from her lips before she'd even finished thinking them. “There are other ways.”

Athera didn't regret speaking out, but the moments of expectant stillness that followed were agonising, each passing second another silent curse against her impulsiveness. She was more than thankful when the youngest of the three became animated again, breaking the impasse.

“If the brothel is what you're meaning, I think I'd rather stay here.” She said curtly.

Evidently eager to return to a safer subject, the other women made noises of agreement.

“Pay enough money and they get away with doing all sorts to those poor girls, 'long as it doesn't leave any permanent marks.” Hettie said with a shake of her head. “They hate that they want us, but want us they do and it's those sorry creatures who suffer for it.”

“The less said about it the better.” The elder woman said with a definite air of finality. “We can't do anything, so let's just be thankful the masters know a weak body makes for a poor slave and count our own blessings. Hettie, the honey.” Hettie looked like she had more to say, but it was clear the conversation was done.

“I'll get it,” the younger girl offered and swiftly disappeared into the pantry only to return moments later with a fair sized clay pot. Sticky sweet residue clung to its sides, evidence that it was indeed used a fair amount. Athera made sure to add an extra dollop as she prepared the tea, not because she cared if the Lady found the taste pleasing, but because she hoped those working under her might benefit somehow if she did.

“Mmm,” the maid said, leaning close to inhale the pungent steam rising from the pot. “That smells good.”

It smelt like home, Athera thought with a pang of sadness. Though the ingredients had been improvised, the end result was surprisingly familiar and stirred memories of open fires under the night sky and her mother's fingers gently working through her hair. Like starlight, she would say, whimsically braiding strands just to shake them loose again right after. She wished she could be that child again.

“I don't see what's so special about it myself,” the older one sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Smells like the garden to me. Still, if it's exotic, the Lady's sure to like it. Or at least pretend to. Come on then, best not to keep her waiting.”

“I'll show her up,” the maid offered, hastily fetching the kettle and placing it on a readied tray, alongside a very fine and obviously expensive tea set. Athera suspected her eagerness had less to to with being helpful and more to do with winning back Hettie's favour.

Outside of the kitchen the house plunged itself back into gloom and with it came a blessed coolness, much to Athera's relief. She wasn't sure if it was the season's oppressive heat that had her squirming in her dress, or the ever watchful eyes belonging to generations of Lords and Ladies hanging in heavy frames on all the walls, but judging from the way the material clung to her in places she'd rather they not, she guessed it to be the former.

These long dead residents were obviously still very much cared for in their afterlives, their nameplates polished to glinting in the scarce light- kept out for the most part by thick scarlet curtains. She read each as they passed, counting three Renatus's and two

Viviana's. The row ended at a blank, unnamed frame.

“You don't remember me, do you?” The girl's question came before Athera could think any more on who's portrait it was waiting for.

“We've met?” She asked, surreptitiously looking her over. She seemed familiar in the way any other young maid might. Comely, but unremarkable.

“Only briefly,” she smiled. Did you find your cakes?”

It took a moment for Athera to realise the maid was the same girl who had given her directions on her first, ill fated trip into town, and understood then, it was seeing Therasia's house crest pinned to the breast of her cloak that had caused her to help.

“Yes, thank you.” That she hadn't made it to the seller at all was something the girl didn't need to know.

“That's good. I'd heard there was some trouble nearby. Did you see anything?”

“No,” she said, and hoped her practised air of innocence was convincing enough. Them having crossed paths before could be no more than coincidence, and it was likely the question was an innocent one, but she couldn't risk letting anyone else know what she had seen.

The girl leant in close until Athera was sure she would tip the tray. “Nobody did,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “which means it was covered up. That's the fourth one now. Scary, huh?”

“Yes,” she said. And she meant it. If someone was willing to go through the effort of covering up a murder then it probably hadn't been something as straight forward as a race crime. That it hadn't been the first was even more worrying. Was there something else going on in the city that she didn't know about? It felt more and more like she had been thrown into a den of snakes with nothing but a change of clothes to protect herself.

Thankfully the conversation could go no further though, as they had reached the doors to the drawing room.

“I'll have to leave you here,” the maid said, and handed over the tray so carefully that Athera almost told her she was missing a hand, not a brain. “Perhaps we'll see each other again. Goodbye.” She smiled one last time then turned heel and left.

With nowhere left to go but forward, Athera took a deep breath and went inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blarg. Long gaps in between writing chapters make for difficult writing, but, and I hate to use this excuse but it's too true, the old ADHD has been making writing anything for more than 10 minutes super hard for a while now. Ah well, can but press on with whatever momentum comes, as this story tells itself in my head even if it doesn't make it to paper...screen? as promptly as, or in the way I'd like.  
> Working on the next, could come next week, could come four months away. Who knows.  
> Le sigh.


End file.
